We Happy Few
by SiriuslyPadfoot'sGal
Summary: NOMINATED AT ENCHANTED ENCOUNTERS!He doesn't do happiness. He just doesn't. And he doesn't do favors, especially not for Granger. He really, really doesn't. Or at least, he didn't. HermioneDraco PostHogwarts. Considered AU with release of DH. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_, or any of its characters. I'm a poor college student and not lucky enough to get paid for anything I write.

We Happy Few

By: SiriuslyPadfoot'sGal

This fic is for sarahyyy and will be either three or four parts long.

She requested a post-war Draco/Hermione romantic comedy that included Ron.

I hope you like it! The next chapters will come soon!

Part I: A Favor

"_Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."—Carl Jung_

He doesn't do happiness.

He just doesn't.

He doesn't do happiness, kindness, shyness, awkwardness. He doesn't do a lot of things.

More than anything, he doesn't do favors.

He does do anger.

He does anger, bitterness, sarcasm, and intimidations. It's what he does.

And he still doesn't do favors. He really, really doesn't.

Or at least, he _didn't._

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"I said no, Potter."

"Come on, it wouldn't hurt you to do her a favor."

"I don't DO favors. I just don't."

"Right. I forgot about your Malfoy code, or whatever that shit is you spout off all the time."

"It's called the Malfoy Canon. I can't expect you to understand, growing up in a cupboard and all."

Draco's office grew silent and he lifted his eyes to gage the intensity surrounding the boy who didn't die after all. He wasn't sure if he had taken it too far. This kind of bickering was normal for them, but every once in a while Potter had one of those days.

Relief washed over him as Harry let out a bark-like laugh and grabbed a small dragon figurine off the top of his desk.

"Tell me, O' sophisticated one, does rule number 347 say, 'Thou must have fruity little ornaments on thy Auror desk'?" Harry snickered, taking the liberty of seating himself on the edge of the desk.

"Yeah," Draco smirked, taking back the dragon, "and rule 348 says if a prat with an ugly scar mocks said figurine, a Malfoy must then proceed to shove it up said prat's arse."

"Hmm… well, let me know when you find him."

"Right Potter. Now get out of my office, I have work to do."

"Not until you agree to help."

Scoffing, Draco reclined in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. Glancing at his posture, Harry was immediately reminded of the young Sirius he saw in Snape's pensieve.

"Potter, does Granger even know you're asking for my help? It's not as though we get along."

"She specifically asked for you."

Draco lifted one eyebrow delicately. He might have even allowed his mouth to drop open in shock, if rule number 11 didn't state quite clearly that "Malfoys are NEVER surprised."

"Did she now? What is it about the Golden Trio? I do a couple of decent things in the war, pass the order a little information, and suddenly all three of you are just dying to be my friend."

"Is that how it happened? Funny, I seem to remember a slightly different story." Harry pushed his hair away from his eyes to reveal an eyebrow cocked in a questioning manner. And Draco knew the question.

_Do I really have to bring up that night?_

Draco didn't want to do Granger any favors. He might have some sort of a truce with Weasley and Potter, if a truce includes sarcasm and a hell of a lot of alcohol, but it certainly didn't extend to Granger.

She didn't trust him, and he hated her for it. A day didn't go by that he didn't think of that night on the tower, and each day he busted his ass to make up for those mistakes. Why else would he spend every waking moment doing Auror work for the ministry when he had enough money to live his entire life without ever lifting a finger? Every ministry paycheck he received went straight to charity, usually a charity that Granger had mentioned.

But she didn't care. He didn't understand how Potter, his ultimate nemesis, could not only forgive him, but count him a friend, yet she still looked at him like the Dark Mark was tattooed across his face, not that he wanted her to look at him differently or anything. It just irked him. Malfoys were to be respected and desired by all, rule 38 said so.

He was interrupted from his musings when Potter snapped a finger in his face and said, "Did you hear me?"

"Sorry," he smirked, "I just assumed you were having another golden boy rant, so I tuned you out."

Harry jabbed a finger into his chest and said, "You're such a funny little ferret."

"Not to mention dazzlingly handsome. Don't tell me you have an animal fetish, Golden Boy."

Draco grinned, but it was diminished slightly when he saw the serious look on Potter's face.

"You owe me, Draco."

He didn't need the knowing look on Potter's face to understand what he meant. Memories of pain, blood, and his father sneering flashed through his mind. That's right, Potter had saved his life. And he was grateful. He was grateful even though rule 52 said, "Never owe anyone anything."

"The whole fucking Wizarding World owes you, Potter. Find another guinea pig."

He wasn't sure why he was letting Harry drive him out of his own office, but he moved towards the door anyway. He didn't like talking about things like this with Potter. He didn't like remembering the War. It only served to remind him that he had so much to make up for, so much more to go.

"Please, Draco."

He was no fool. Draco knew very well, that Potter had used his given name twice in the last minute. That brought it to a grand total of three times in his entire life.

"Why me?"

Harry sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration, "I'm not sure, but she asked for you. She made me promise."

"And what if I say no, what then?"

"Then I'll send Hermione to ask you. And I'll make you come to every Sunday lunch at the Burrow"

Draco might have actually paled, "You wouldn't. I won't go. Besides, Granger wouldn't come talk to me anyway. In case you haven't noticed, we're about as friendly as a vampire and its next victim."

"Ten galleons says you'd be the victim."

Draco growled, but Harry continued," And she will. You didn't see her. She can be pretty damn stubborn, and for whatever reason, she wants you to help with this experiment."

Draco paused and glared at Harry, wondering if he might be lying.

"I don't understand why she needs me. What is this project exactly?"

"I don't really know. She and a couple other Unspeakables finished it about two weeks ago. Normally, they just test it amongst themselves, but apparently they need more test subjects. I know it's something they developed specifically for the ministry."

Draco fixed him with a calculating stare, and knew he wasn't lying. Potter was a bloody awful liar.

"What do I get out of it?"

"You'll no longer be indebted to me." Harry said in a grave tone.

Surprised, Draco asked, "Are you sure? You get one favor from me, Scarhead, only one. Do you really want to waste it for Granger?"

"I owe her." He answered simply.

Draco was itching to question further. What did Granger have over Potter? Merlin, he was curious as hell. He locked his eyes on Potter, but Harry had shut him out. He knew Potter would never tell. Draco wasn't stupid, whatever this project was, he was getting off easy. Out of all the things Potter could have asked him to do, this was nothing.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'm in."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Hermione fingered the chain around her neck nervously. Never in the history of the Department of Mysteries, had someone sought outside help. But she had to; otherwise, they'd be testing this invention for years. The more people they tested it on, the sooner they would find out exactly how it works.

You see, this project had begun as something rather simple, but had become something so much more.

Scrimgeour was convinced that the Wizarding populace as a whole was depressed, especially those who worked in the ministry. The war may have been over, but it still acted as a parasite, sucking the happiness out of even the most joyous of occasions.

People weren't quite sure whether they were allowed to talk about the atrocities that had occurred just a few years ago or if they should pretend that everything was back to normal.

He had approached her with an idea. He wanted her to make some kind of invention that would boost the morale, help everyone hold on to the happier moments of life. Originally she had toyed with the idea of using a cheering charm in some way, perhaps casting one on the entire ministry building, but that was hard to maintain.

She'd been at the Burrow when inspiration had struck. It had been Charlie's birthday, an occasion that was far from happy, because Charlie hadn't made it to his 30th birthday. He'd died in a raid a week before the final battle.

The Weasley's weekly Sunday brunch had been a somber affair indeed. Molly had barely asked Fred to pass the potatoes before she burst into tears. Ron had immediately left his food forgotten and retreated into the house.

Ron had spent far too long being the supportive one, being the one trying to help everyone else. He was hurting, and he did the only thing he could that made him feel any happier.

When Hermione entered the room, he'd been sitting on his bed with a black stone basin snuggled securely between his legs.

His pensieve.

She made no noise to alert him to her presence, but had watched as he replayed his happiest moments, there in that finite basin.

That was when the idea had struck her. What if something was made available to the public, something that could be taken with you everywhere that held your happiest memories?

It had started off as just a miniature pensieve, but had become so much more, by accident really.

It had started off with minor improvements.

How does one go about choosing your happiest memories? She tried to think of what she might choose as her favorite memories, but each that came to mind was tainted with a bitter blur that reeked of the war. She wasn't sure she had any happy memories left in her past

What if you can't think of any happy memories? What if everything that once made you happy, only reminds you of everything that makes you unhappy?

She didn't have to ponder that question much, because one day, they stumbled upon a spell that did it for them. Somehow, the spell enabled the invention to choose the appropriate memories for the user.

She ran her hand across the necklace again, and shuddered. They had done it, they had created something that could detect and store a person's favorite memories.

Everything had been perfect. The colleagues that acted as test subjects reported excellent findings; it appeared that the experiment had been a success.

They had begun to make the product in mass supply, for distribution to all ministry employees, when she had first tested the product for herself.

Resting her head in her hands she remembered that day—the day when she discovered that the invention she'd been working on for months didn't work. Well, it didn't work how it was intended, for her at least. She feared that it was all a failure.

But she couldn't know for sure. She steeled her resolve and told herself to stay positive. She didn't know anything for sure yet.

She needed to test it on more people, and there just weren't enough Unspeakables.

She needed to know if the invention worked on everyone, if it worked the same in every case. She needed to know why things were different for her, and if they were different for anyone else.

She had a tingling feeling in her chest that her creation, might just do more than she'd ever intended it to do.

"Granger?"

Her head left her hands to stare up into gray eyes that looked as hard and cold as metal.

"You're early." She replied.

"I'm prompt," he replied, "There's a difference."

"Well, its 1:55, and I told Harry and Ron to be here at 2:00, which means we've got ten minutes until they actually get here."

He snorted, and took the seat across from her in the meeting room. He fixed her with a cold stare and waited for her to speak, when she didn't he decided it was time to get some answers.

"So, bookworm, care to tell me why you needed me?"

"I needed some people to help me test a new product, people from the ministry."

"Uhuh." He nodded slowly, noting with curiosity that she was wringing her hands, hands that were probably sweating. She was biting her lip delicately and doing everything to avoid eye contact with him.

He stayed silent for a few moments, never letting his gaze waver, and she could feel it burning through her. Why did his gaze make her feel as though he could see her every little secret with one intimidating glance?

"Care to tell me the _real_ reason you needed me?"

"That is the real reason, Malfoy."

"Oohoo…" He smirked, "for a second I almost believed you, Granger. With a little practice, you might make a decent liar."

"I hope you never have children, Malfoy. They might be the closest thing to Satan the world has ever seen."

He just chuckled and replied, "Speaking of Satan, you really should sell your soul for better hair. An eternity of suffering is worth getting rid of that thing."

"Really? Well, let me know when you're available for an appointment and I'll sign it right over."

"Feisty." He raised an eyebrow and continued, "I like that. If I ever need any help running Hell, I'll let you know."

"Prick."

"Bookworm."

"Ugh!" She groaned, "I hate how you can make even that an insult."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, "It's a gift."

"You should find a way to give it back."

"No. I don't think I will," he smirked, "I'm quite enjoying how red your face is right now. "

"Bastard," she mumbled underneath her breath and her face only reddened. .

"No. My birth was quite legitimate actually. So why don't we save the insults for later and talk about why I got suckered into this."

"I didn't sucker you into anything."

"No, but Potter did. Why exactly did he owe you by the way?" He asked, his eyebrow returning to that lifted position that just screamed condescension.

Her head snapped up, and she looked him in the eye for the first time. The anger from earlier had dissipated to be replaced by nervousness. He wanted to take pleasure in her anxiety and the way she was sputtering in search of an answer, but in a way it worried him.

Never in his life had he seen Granger in such a mess, not even when facing Voldemort.

He didn't have time to question her any further because in that exact moment, Potter and Weasley came barging in.

Potter took in Hermione's anxious form, and Draco's daunting presence opposite her, and seemed to conclude that an interrogation had taken place. He shot Draco a warning look before taking the seat next to him.

Draco watched as Weasley bent down and placed a sickeningly sweet kiss on Hermione's cheek, which only seemed to frazzle her more. He was certainly becoming intrigued by her behavior, not that he hadn't always been.

She'd always been such a fascinating creature, even in their days at Hogwarts. He had a way with women, could read them like a book, but no, not her.

He just didn't get her. At first he chalked it up to her Muggle heritage, but during the war he started to think it went beyond that. He didn't understand how she could be so many things, so many people all at once. When he looked at her, he saw a little bit of Potter, Weasley, Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and even something a little bit like himself. She seemed to take the best things about people and soak them into herself like a sponge.

When she was angry, he could see himself in her. That, perhaps, was why he'd spent so much time hassling her, just to see it. Her eyes would light up with something akin to fire, but then turn cold as steel, and it did something to him. It gave him a feeling so deeply implanted in his body, that he had no way of naming it. Now, he thought it just might have been pride, pride to know that she saw something in him worth copying.

He'd spent so much of his youth trying to figure out what part of her menagerie of personalities was uniquely her own, and he still hadn't quite figured it out. He'd always thought that besides her heritage, she belonged in Slytherin. It was downright cunning the way she fooled everyone, but she didn't fool him.

"Alright," she began, "Well, all three of you know that I'm an Unspeakable, so it goes without saying that by extension, you're involvement in this is to be kept silent. When you signed the paper, you signed a contract, and believe me, you do not want to face the consequences of breaking that contract."

The Golden Trio shared a laugh, and he heard Weasley mumble the name, Marietta Edgecombe. He tried not to feel left out, because Malfoys are never left out (rule 211). It's not as though he wanted to be a part of their little group. The trio was meant to stay a trio; it seemed the world worked in threes.

Taking a steady breath to calm her laughter she continued, "Our invention was inspired by a pensieve, but designed to be more advanced, and more manageable. Scrimgeour came to me because he believed that people, specifically workers at the ministry, were unhappy."

Draco snorted, and changed positions in his seat. Hermione gave him a look that wasn't quite angry, but certainly not friendly.

"I know what you're thinking. And this isn't some ploy by politicians to force everyone to be happy; it's not that kind of magic. Basically we've created a portable device that identifies and stores the user's happiest memories. Memories which can be used for reflection, whenever the person may need a slight pick me up. It was Ron, actually, who inspired the idea."

Ron only blushed, and Harry gave him a friendly clap on the back.

"But there's a few kinks we need to work out. Originally, we had only intended it to be a transportable pensieve, but we stumbled upon a spell that made it even more advanced. We found that it could now detect the memories for itself, but in some cases, the memories were not what the testers had assumed would be their memories. Other times, they weren't even real memories at all, more like happy fabrications. We also aren't sure if the invention has the capability of updating when new happy memories are made. Because we can't control what memories we make, or whether or not they make us happy, it's been difficult to test the product, which is why we needed more people. All I ask of you three is that you use the product for the next few weeks, and notify me if anything is unusual or if your memories change at all."

She finished with a small smile and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Draco was the first to speak, but she still didn't quite meet his eyes.

"What exactly is this product?"

"Well, we don't really have a name for it yet, but here are yours."

She reached into her bag and pulled out three golden chains with pendants swinging steadily at the bottom. She passed them to each and Draco noted that Harry received a snitch and Ron a broom.

His hand closed around his own, and he brought it up for inspection. It was a small golden dragon with eyes that sparkled a magnificent silver, and he looked up to find her looking at him. He wasn't sure what to think. Most people gave him things dealing with Quidditch or snakes or anything to do with Slytherin really. He wasn't sure whether she had chosen it simply because of his name, or because maybe she knew a little more about him than he gave her credit for.

She unbuttoned the first button of her shirt and Weasley looked like his eyes might just explode above his ridiculously freckled nose. She pulled from underneath the material her own necklace, adorned with a golden book, and Draco was not surprised in the least.

He noticed Potter grinning, and she smiling sheepishly back at him.

"Are you telling me you want me to wear a bloody necklace?" Draco sneered.

Her chin rose defiantly, her eyes met his, and he noticed the flame and the coldness that followed.

"I seem to remember you toting around that ridiculous snake pendant when we were in school, and trust me, this is no worse."

He thought he saw a trace a smirk on her lips and he had to fight off a smile. She may as well have grown blonde hair and changed her eyes to molten silver. It never ceased to amaze him how similar she was to him in moments like this.

At his staring, her eyes became guarded and she seemed to become self-conscious. He wanted to tell her not to stop, but he knew that would be ridiculous.

She tore her eyes away and removed the necklace from around her neck.

She opened the pages of her pendant like it was an actual book she was preparing to read, and motioned for them all to do the same.

Draco fiddled with his dragon for a moment, before finding the seam and opening it up. He had to hold his tongue to keep from mentioning that he might wear a necklace, but only poofs wore lockets.

"To begin, place one of your thumbs on the left side of your locket. Leave it for thirty seconds while the necklace determines the memories it will choose. When you wish to view the memories, place your thumb on the right side of the locket. The memories will be replayed in your mind for only you to see. If you wish to show your memories to another, you place a thumb on each side of the locket and the memories will recreate themselves in miniature form above the locket, just like a pensieve."

Draco's thumb began to grow hot, and it made him slightly nervous, or it would have, if rule 9 didn't say that, "Malfoys are never nervous."

The heat stopped, and Hermione told them that it was done.

"If you would like, you may stay and watch your memories, but you may leave if you wish. All I ask is that you contact me every few days to tell me if anything has changed."

Draco was staring at his locket with an uncharacteristic expression on his face, something akin to worry. Which by the way, Malfoys never did (rule 19)!

He didn't notice as Potter and Weasley stood and said their goodbyes. He would admit that he was a little wary of this object. After all, Malfoy rule number 1 states clearly that Malfoys do not feel, especially happiness. If you depend on happiness, you show an easy weakness to be exploited. His father had always said that life wasn't about happiness.

Draco had once questioned him as to what life was about, if it wasn't about happiness. His father had said power, but Draco had yet to find an answer to that question that suited him.

What if he had never truly been happy? What would the necklace show then?

He noticed then that the room had grown silent, and the wonder boys had both left the room.

Hermione was still seated across from him; he was a little surprised she hadn't left with the others. He looked back down to his pendant, but was interrupted by her words.

"I heard about your donation to the Lycanthropy Research Fund. It was quite generous. Lupin would have been grateful."

Draco just nodded. It was the first time she had ever mentioned anyone of his attempts at redeeming himself, and just hearing her words, he felt as though he'd accomplished so much more.

"You're wasting your time, you know, with me as a test subject."

"Why is that?" She asked.

He paused and debated whether or not to tell her. He wasn't sure how it would sound, and he didn't want her pitying him. He reminded himself that this was Granger, and though she might spare pity for houselves, werewolves, and any other needy creature, she never had any feelings to spare for him.

"There's nothing happy in my past to remember."

Her eyes grew wide, with something that wasn't surprise. She nodded once, and they returned to silence. After a few moments, he closed the pendent and placed it gracefully around his neck.

When he looked up, her eyes were focused on the small dragon glinting against the pale expanse of his chest peaking from beneath his white oxford. He remained still for a moment, watching as her eyes remained fixated on his locket, on him.

When she looked up again, she appeared frightened and didn't meet his eyes. Clutching the necklace in her hand, she stood abruptly.

She nodded by way of excusing herself and retreated to the door. She stopped and rested her hand carefully against the door knob. She seemed to be struggling with something. She took a deep breath, steeling her resolve and whispered quietly with her back still facing him.

"Thank you for the favor," she opened the door and was almost completely out before she added, "Draco."

A/N: Well, there's part one, more to come soon.

For those of you who read Moments of Sanity, an update is coming soon there as well!

Happy Twenty O' Seven all!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I'm working really hard on my British accent, but until I perfect that, I'm going to have a little trouble passing for J.K. Rowling.

Again, this fic is for sarahyyy, I hope you and everyone else enjoy it!

**We Happy Few**

_"Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted. " Sylvia Plath_

He felt as though the weight of the world, which had been leaning on him heavily like a drunken harlot clinging to her next customer, had suddenly dissipated in a rush of wind. It left him weightless and carefree and _almost _happy.

If Draco Malfoy weren't such a cynical man, he might have felt like a child dancing through a field of flowers surrounded by butterflies and rainbows. But alas, bitterness, sarcasm, and cruelty were riding shotgun, which meant that goodness was stuffed in the trunk with duct tape over its mouth.

He wasn't quite sure what had happened to change the dynamics in his relationship with Granger, but something certainly had. Not only had she acknowledged his attempts at trying to right his many wrongs, but she had thanked him.

If he were God watching from up above, this would have been the part where he pulled out the popcorn and waited for the world spin off its axis.

_Thank you. _

What do those words even mean?

_To express gratitude; show appreciation_

Well, hot damn, Hermione Granger appreciated Draco Malfoy. How about that?

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a hint of a smile. Granger with her shyly given gratitude had inflated his ego more than a dozen Snitches ever could.

Being the devastatingly handsome man that he was, he was used to women fawning over him. But a 'thank you' from Granger meant more than anything that any one of those tarts could possibly say.

He paused there and let his feet fall from their perched position on his desk. He was beginning to think that he appreciated her appreciation of him, except that appreciation of anyone other than a pureblood was strictly forbidden by rule 321 of the Malfoy Canon.

Now, don't misjudge him here. He had certainly abandoned the old Malfoy dogma about purity of blood, but the gratitude swelling in his chest was surprising all the same. It had nothing to do with her Muggle-born status, and everything to do with the fact that he _wanted_ to say 'thank you.' And those were two words he'd never said out loud before, well not together anyway, and certainly not to a former member of the Potter Dream Team.

He pulled the trinket out of his pocket and laid it open in the center of his desk. The ornamental dragon sat a few inches away from one of his Auror files, and he momentarily entertained a boyish vision of the dragon vaulting on top of the file and breathing fire onto the contents of his desk. He had to admit that Granger had done pretty well with the dragon, it wasn't too bad. But that certainly didn't mean he was okay with wearing a damn necklace.

_LOCKET!_

His brain screamed at him to acknowledge the jewelry for what it was, but he refused. He could justify wearing a necklace for the good of mankind and betterment of society, or whatever it was that Granger constantly went on about, but he could not justify wearing a… well, you know, the L word.

He stared at it for a moment and realized that he much preferred Granger's dragon to the one already adorning his desk. Once again, he found himself feeling grateful towards Granger, and it shook him, terrified him to the point that he felt that he needed something, anything to change the focus of his thoughts. Perhaps even, dare he say it?

A happy memory.

With nervous hands he found the seam between the small golden scales of the dragon and flipped open the _necklace. _He looked at the _necklace_ that just happened to open up like a…well, you know.

"Here goes nothing." He whispered as though he was a vagabond sentenced to walk the plank and might as well get it over with.

He pressed his thumb against the left side and felt it grow warm against his skin. He sucked in a breath as he felt a whooshing sensation inside his head. He closed his eyes and he could see colors and lights swirling in the darkness.

_Black. Everything was black, but with noises. Noises he couldn't quite place. As though seeing through his own eyes, a picture formed, and he was looking down as his feet pounded against the pavement. The picture disappeared and he was left with a hazy vision, almost as though he were winding his way through a labyrinth of smoke. The haze disappeared and he was holding someone tightly against his chest, but everything was blurry and he couldn't quite see who was wrapped in his arms. Blackness overcame him again and he heard a woman's voice saying softly, "Maybe you're a good man after all, Draco Malfoy." An image of two hands linked together passed through his mind. One hand was obviously his, and the other was small and delicate with a sprinkling of freckles across the back. The hand in his was small and soft and seemingly perfect. _

He quickly removed his thumb from the object. He could still see the picture of the joined hands in his mind. It had felt so real, that he could almost feel the slight pressure of someone's palm against his own.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he came to several conclusions. First, the vision hadn't been at all what he'd expected. The way Granger had explained it, the memory should have been like watching a Muggle movie of your own past. His visualization had been hazy and blurry and barely visible at points.

Secondly, and this one was the real kicker, the memory that the lock—ahem—necklace showed him wasn't in the least bit familiar. In fact, he was pretty damn sure that it had never happened to him.

So Granger's little invention didn't even work, at least not for him. He reasoned that he wasn't like most people. He didn't exactly have any memories that he wished to keep. In fact, forgetting would be the happiest thing he could imagine.

He wondered if anyone else had experienced the same effects as he. He had so many questions running through his mind that he felt fit to explode. He certainly couldn't talk to Granger; she would ask him questions until he turned to fucking dust. He momentarily considered going to Potter, but he'd had his fill of conversations with Potter as of late. It was his fault that Draco was even in this ridiculous experiment.

He had to admit that something about the so-called "memory" unnerved him. His blood was rushing quickly through his veins, and he clenched his fist tightly, trying to squash the jittery feeling that seemed to be overwhelming him.

He needed someone who wouldn't pick up on his discomfort. He needed someone who knew less about emotions than even he did. Basically, he needed someone thicker than, well, something really thick.

He needed Weasley.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"Weasley."

"Malfoy."

"Your desk is quite the pigsty. Didn't your mum ever teach you to clean up after yourself?"

"I've been busy working, Malfoy. I don't have a whole lot of time to clean my desk."

"Working?" Draco laughed, "Is that what you call sending Potter memos that say, oh, what was it again? Ah, yes. 'Where do you find a dog with no legs?'"

"Right where you left it!" Ron laughed loudly and pounded his fist against his desk. Draco wasn't very amused.

"Well, I'll be going on that note." Draco turned to leave.

"All right, Malfoy. I promise not to make any jokes."

Draco allowed a small smirk to flit across his face before he turned back around. Ron raised his feet to his cluttered desk and settled the two large atrocities on top of some paperwork, what appeared to be a half-eaten sandwich, and a small Quidditch figurine that looked oddly like Victor Krum.

"So, why are you here, Malfoy?"

"No reason."

Ron smiled and asked, "Simply for the pleasure of my company?"

"I thought you weren't going to make any jokes, Weasley."

Ron peered at him oddly for a moment, before his eyes widened in surprise. In an accusing tone riddled with unbelief he said, "You're having a good day!"

"You might say that," Draco smiled, "but I hardly intend to allow you to change that, so let's get down to business. Have you had a chance to look at the… uh… necklace that Granger gave you?"

"No," Ron replied as he began to scavenge through the piles of trash littering his desk.

"Ah, here it is!" Ron cried, holding the necklace up by the broomstick figurine. "Why do you ask?"

Draco chose his words carefully, "No reason, I was just wondering what your memories were like."

He hoped to Merlin that Ron was particularly unobservant today, because for some reason unbeknownst to him, Draco found himself sweating, and not lightly either.

"Well, I don't see why you can't watch them with me right now."

Draco settled into a rather uncomfortable seat across from Ron and watched as the redhead put one thumb on each side of the locket. A small light burst from the object and a vision began to form above Ron's hands.

Draco was surprised to see a fifteen-year-old version of himself form, smirk and all.

"Why, Weasley, I know I've always been devastatingly handsome, but I had no idea that I had captured your fancy as well."

Ron only sneered in return before allowing a smirk (well, the best smirk he could manage) to appear as the scene above the necklace advanced.

Draco tried not to react as he watched his teenaged body transform into that of a small, white (yet incredibly cute) ferret.

Ron roared with laughter, but Draco's lips were set in a rigid line.

"Does it make you sad, Weasley, that I'm better looking as a ferret than you are as a human?"

Ron just continued to smile as though he'd just received his very first letter from Hogwarts.

The image disappeared only to be replaced by the figure of Hermione Granger looking up at Ronald Weasley with a shy smile on her face.

Ron immediately turned red at the memory and made to remove his hands, but Draco stopped him. He pushed down, refusing to allow Ron to remove his thumbs.

"Now, _Ronald, _I thought you were sharing these memories with me." Draco smirked.

Ron mumbled something unintelligible and buried his face into the crook of his elbow, refusing to watch.

Draco watched as Hermione lifted herself up on to her tiptoes and placed a small kiss on Weasley's lips. She steered a trail across his cheek, until she reached his ear. Her tongue darted out momentarily to flick along the shell of his ear. Draco felt his cheeks turn a light pink at the intimate moment between the two friends.

Hermione dropped a kiss onto Ron's neck before stepping backwards. Her hands moved towards her shirt, flicking open the first button.

With eyes wide, Draco ripped Ron's thumbs from the necklace, causing the sensuous image of prissy Hermione Granger to vanish into thin air.

Ron lifted his head, looking grateful that Draco had not allowed it to continue any further.

Draco merely raised an eyebrow in question.

"It's not what you think," Ron began, "We're just friends."

"Uh huh," Draco replied, inspecting his fingernails rather than meeting Ron's eyes.

"I'm serious. That memory is only there because it got us both through a very tough time. We never intended to be more than friends, it was just one night, one night when we both wanted to forget the war surrounding us."

Draco nodded, because he understood completely. He only wished that he'd had something like that to help him make it through. He still wasn't quite sure how he got out of that war with his sanity in tact.

"I understand, Ron."

"Thank you, Draco."

It was a testament to how far they both had come. They not only were using each other's given names, but Ron had just disclosed something incredibly private. And Draco found himself opening his mouth to divulge something private of his own.

"My memories weren't like that."

"What do you mean?"

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "Well, first of all, they weren't any memories of mine. The things I saw have never happened, at least not to me. And it wasn't even really a memory. It was just a few flashes of something. It was all blurry and there was this haze, nothing like yours."

A line formed across Ron's forehead, a clear sign that Ron was thinking, or trying to, at least.

"These flashes, what were they?"

"Hard to say, mate. The first one was me running, the next I think I might have been hugging someone or holding them. I'm not really sure."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. Like I said, everything was very blurry. The only clear image I saw was the very last one." Draco paused, unsure of how to articulate the next vision. "It was my hand, holding someone else's hand."

A sheepish smile appeared on Ron's face and he said, "Aw… was ickle Dwaco remembering the first time he held a girl's hand?"

"I told you that these weren't real memories." He sneered, "And don't push me, Weasley. Off the top of my head I can think of at least forty-three ways to kill you, no wait, make that forty-four."

Ron paused for a moment, a critical look passing over his eyes, "Have you been stealing my jokes?"

Draco's cool exterior cracked just enough for him to laugh, but only a little. He was pushing the regulations of the Malfoy Canon by even grinning, but he wasn't worried. He'd broken rules far worse than that. Not only had he gone against his family, but he was openly friendly with Muggle-borns, blood-traitors, and the Boy (Okay, fine… Man) Who Killed You-Know-Who. And even worse, they were all—every single one of them—Gryffindors.

"No, Weasley, if I needed to steal jokes, which I don't, I would steal from Potter. He's bitter, much more my style."

"Bitter? Really? I had you pegged more for violent humor, note the previous threats on my life."

Draco smirked and said, "Ah, you see, that's where you're wrong. That wasn't intended to be humorous. "

Ron laughed mockingly and searched for a comeback. Finding none, he returned to their previous conversation.

"Perhaps it was a boy?" Ron added.

"What in Merlin's name are you on about now?"

"The hand… was it another boy's hand?" Ron waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I've just added 20 new ways to kill you, Weasley, including death by sandpaper. Infer that I'm some sort of poof one more time, and I won't hesitate to start experimenting. Besides, you're the one wearing a locket."

Ron peered at him strangely for a moment and said, "You are too, Malfoy."

"Nonsense. Malfoys do not wear lockets—rule number 871. Mine is quite clearly a necklace."

Ron snorted, but didn't continue.

"So are you going to tell Hermione?" Ron asked.

"That you showed me a rather revealing memory of the two of you—how should I say this? Oh yes—doing the deed? No, I'm not going to tell her."

Ron's ears flushed red. "I meant about your strange non-memory memories."

"No, not just yet. I'm still angry at that bint for making me wear a necklace. "

A few years ago, Ron would have sprung to his feet to defend Hermione's honor, but they both knew now that it was said in light-hearted jest. Draco would never admit it, but he didn't hate Hermione. He didn't even dislike her. She didn't really hate him either. But she certainly had trouble trusting him. In fact, she preferred to ignore him altogether, which was not easy for Draco.

Malfoys, as dictated by rule number 10, should always stand out in a dignified, prestigious way. Draco could handle many things—hatred, violence, jealousy, dislike—but he didn't take well to being ignored.

It had become routine, that he tried especially hard to get her to acknowledge him, and she in return avoided him altogether. It was like an advanced game of cat and mouse, and all the while Draco was doing all the pursuing, he felt very much like the mouse.

Draco straightened his coat and flashed Ron a smirk, "Must be going, have fun being unproductive."

Ron, who had been trying to balance a pencil on his forefinger, grinned and said, "I will! Are you coming by the Burrow for lunch on Sunday?"

"I'd rather die."

"So, that's a yes?"

"Of course."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco decided to walk, rather than Floo or Apparate home; he needed the fresh air and the space to let his thoughts flow freely.

He allowed his mind to retrace the details of his supposed "memory." He remembered there being a voice, but he couldn't recall what exactly it had said, it had all happened rather quickly.

Resolving to watch the memory again, and perhaps the rest of the memories, when he arrived home, he continued his brisk pace.

He heard a small scream and looked up to see two people struggling about a street ahead of him. It looked as though a woman were getting mugged, but the mugger seemed to have got the shorter straw. The purse he had been attempting to snatch was now being repeatedly thrashed against his skull. The woman continued to hit the man while she reached into her coat pocket for something.

In her moment of distraction, the man managed to retrieve a firearm from inside his own coat and he held it up in her face.

At this point, Draco began to run, his feet pounding heavily against the pavement.

_Thud. _

_Thud. _

_Thud._

The woman raised her arms carefully and offered up her purse to her attacker. Draco was ten yards away, eight, seven.

The man looked up to see Draco running at him full-steam. In a panic and rush of anger, he pulled back his weapon and struck the woman on the side of her head, then turned and ran, the purse clutched tightly in his right hand.

Draco made it just in time to catch the woman before she hit the ground. His wand, which he must have reached for on his way, was in his hand and he pointed it at the man's retreating back with a whisper of _Accio!_

The man stopped as the purse was wrenched from his hand. A look of fear crossed the mugger's face as the purse floated easily towards Draco, and he continued his retreat without the purse.

"Jesus Christ! Granger? Is that you?"

Hermione touched her head briefly, and withdrew her fingers, stained red. Her knees gave out slightly, and Draco tightened his hold on her.

"Mmfff… Draco? Glad it's you." She replied weakly.

"Merlin, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy." She replied, using Draco's shoulders to steady herself.

Draco removed one hand from her waist and held it up, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Hermione looked up at him, squinting slightly with the pain.

"Two, four, one, three, make up your mind, Malfoy!" she yelled.

Laughing, he replied, "Sorry, just checking."

"Well, just so you know, most people choose one number and keep it."

"I'll remember that the next time I save you."

Hermione frowned and removed his hand from her waist, "I didn't need you to save me. I would have been just fine on my own."

Draco snorted, but knew better than to push it.

"Regardless, you have to admit that I made one hell of a knight in shining armor."

Hermione's eyes widened and she regarded him strangely for a moment before her mouth opened. She appeared entirely confused and somewhat unnerved by her own retort, but the words still flowed from her mouth easily.

"Does that make me the damsel in distress?"

Draco smiled, an almost full smile, and said, "Never."

Hermione again fixed him with a stare that was close to panicked. She blinked a few times before realizing the surprising lack of space between them. With steady resolve, she stepped away from him.

Hermione said, "I should probably be going."

Simultaneously Draco countered, "I'll help you home."

They both paused for a moment, soaking in the other's remark.

"No, no." Hermione replied, "I'll be fine. But, um, thank you… for that back there." She graced him with a small smile before turning slowly to walk away. She was almost facing completely away from him before she said quietly, "Maybe you're a good man after all, Draco Malfoy."

The words reverberated in his head, telling him that those words were important, that he should be having some great epiphany right now. Unfortunately, Draco never really got that far.

Hermione moved to take her first step, but it appeared she wasn't as okay as she said she was. She wobbled slightly before her body swayed violently.

Again, Draco wrapped his arms around her before she could fall, and she collapsed heavily against his chest.

"Easy there, Bookworm," he smiled. "I've got you."

Hermione mumbled nonsense words into his chest, the heat of her breath tickling his skin.

"Don't need saving," she muttered quietly. "Not damsel… distress."

Draco laughed and it rumbled deep in his chest, sending vibrations down her body from the place where her head met his chest.

"Of course not, Granger. But I think it's time for this knight, who doesn't save damsels but rather annoyingly helps them when they don't need it, to get you home."

She laughed weakly against him and nodded her approval. He scooped her up in his arms carefully, her purse still clutched in his hand and warned her, "I'm about to Apparate, so prepare yourself."

With an unpleasant squeezing sensation and a quick _pop_, they appeared outside the door to her apartment.

"I need to know how to get in, Granger. Do you have a password?"

She nodded briefly and said, "We Happy Few."

At his raised eyebrow, she rolled her eyes and replied, "From a Muggle play."

He nodded his understanding, and repeated the words.

Entering the apartment that he had only been allowed in on one other occasion, he didn't spare time to look around, and didn't even care that the front of his shirt now had a dark red stain. He just quickly maneuvered his way to her sofa, and laid her gently across the cushions.

She continued to mumble things quietly, but he paid her words no attention, and instead retrieved his wand to fix her wound.

First he cleaned the area around the abrasion, finding her rich, chocolate curls to be marred with blood. He then used a healing charm that he'd learned in the war to heal the cut and reverse the effects of her possible concussion.

He moved around to the edge of the sofa and knelt beside her. "Now then, Granger, you're all fixed up." At her half-hearted glare he laughed, "Not that you needed fixing."

She rewarded him with a soft smile that made him smile in return.

Pulling a blanket from the back of the sofa and covering her, he said, "You'll probably have a bit of a headache when you wake, but you should be fine. "

Hermione snuggled into the warmth of the blanket as Draco stood to leave.

He smiled again at her small form curled tightly into a ball and turned to leave.

He felt her hand wrap around his and she whispered, "Stay."

He turned around and felt a sensation that might possibly have been his heart exploding in his chest.

_His hand._

_Her hand. _

_The hands._

The image from the necklace earlier was right before him, and he found that he much preferred the true memory to the blur of before. Pushing his questions aside, he nodded.

She smiled, moved over slightly, and lifted up the blanket in an invitation to join her.

Draco considered smirking or perhaps cocking one eyebrow, but in her shaky state, it wasn't worth the effort of putting up a pretense. Carefully, he moved beside her and tucked his arm underneath her head. She place one hand on his chest and cuddled up against him.

A sudden image of her smiling demurely as she unbuttoned her shirt for Weasley flashed through his mind. And he found himself wishing that she would smile at him like that. He was torn from his thoughts as she sighed and the breath rippled across his neck. He watched as her hand fiddled lazily with a button on his shirt, and decided that this was enough. Maybe better, because this memory was his, not Weasley's.

Feeling her warmth against him made him feel good, maybe even…

_Happy._

**A/N: Yay! That was fun. I hope everyone enjoyed it. It's still not quite over, one or two installments left. **

**Bonus Points to whoever can name the play from which I got Hermione's password (and the title)!**

**A Huge thanks goes to Eilonwy, my beta, for a wonderful job as usual!**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm incredibly sorry for the long wait! I hope this chapter will make up for it! And for those of you waiting for a "Moments of Sanity" update as well, I apologize and will do my best to make it a speedy update!

Again, this story was inspired by a request from sarahyyy and it will hopefully be concluded in under 5 chapters (I say that now… but who knows.)

An incredibly large "thanks" goes out to Eilonwy for being a remarkable beta!

Recap: A sudden image of her smiling demurely as she unbuttoned her shirt for Weasley flashed through his mind. And he found himself wishing that she would smile at him like that. He was torn from his thoughts as she sighed and the breath rippled across his neck. He watched as her hand fiddled lazily with a button on his shirt, and decided that this was enough. Maybe better, because this memory was his, not Weasley's. 

Feeling her warmth against him made him feel good, maybe even…

_Happy._

We Happy Few

Part Three- Mistakes

"_A man's errors are his portals of discovery." James Joyce_

She was blushing.

He couldn't have painted the pale pink across her cheeks better if he had been Da Vinci himself. It was just the right dusting of color, so that it didn't make her appear juvenile, but rather, fit to be ravaged. Her eyes were cast downward, leaving her lashes resting just above her flushed cheeks. The thudding of his heart was so chaotic that he was beginning to think that it had dislodged from its normal position and was ricocheting around his ribcage.

She was standing a few paces away from him, but it was close enough—close enough to leave his midsection in a mess of fluttering butterflies— or something more manly that butterflies (because Malfoy men are never associated with anything girly, rule 421). Or perhaps they were just giant mutant butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach.

She looked up then. His careening heart stilled in his chest and the butterflies, mutant or no, stopped their rampage. Her hand carefully moved to the top of what appeared to be an oversized men's button- down shirt. Her finger circled the top button slowly, sending a rush of blood to a certain part of his anatomy, one that didn't contain any mutant butterflies. With a small and quick flick the button was released from its corresponding hole, and the butterflies seemed to be released from their momentary immobilization. The rapidly wild beat of his heart returned and the squirming in his stomach reached a level so intense that he could barely remain standing still.

She took a small step closer, followed by the release of another button, a second step, one more button. Another. And another.

Their eyes connected and the corners of her lips quirked upward, but only slightly. Her shy smile prompted him to grin in return. Grinning is better left to a child, not a Malfoy, but the look on her face made him feel like a child. And for this child, it felt like Christmas morning. She took another step forward, finally in his reach. He lifted his hand, ready to touch her anywhere and everywhere when she shook her head. He wasn't to touch yet; it wasn't his turn. Her hand rested lightly on his waist, but even through his shirt, he could feel the searing effect that her touch had on him. He felt like he was on sensory overload. The sight of her, the smell, the touch, it was more than he could handle, so he closed his eyes. Her hand found its way around him to rest lightly between his shoulder blades. She was close, so incredibly close. Her breath on his neck sent a shudder down his spine and his eyes popped open.

In a blur of movement, they were on the couch, tangled from head to toe. He could feel the weight of her on top of him, and it was the most exquisite pressure he'd felt in his entire life. Her movements were agonizingly, blissfully slow. He closed his eyes, waiting and anticipating her next move.

He opened his eyes quickly. She was still incredibly close and he could still feel the heat of her hand on his neck, but there was no shy smile on her face or attractive blush across her cheeks. Instead, her eyes were closed and there was a small pool of drool forming on his shirt where her head rested.

It was all a dream.

He cursed under his breath as he surveyed his situation. Her body was pressed tightly against him, one arm curled around him, and one leg resting between his own. As if the situation weren't bad enough, his extremely pleasant dream hadn't exactly made things any easier. If she woke up now, she'd probably Vanish him to Azkaban herself. Sure, they'd made slight progress in their relationship—if by "progress," he meant a lack of violence. And if by "relationship," he meant knowing each other in a way that wasn't murderer to victim, then yes, they had made progress.

But by waking up in what Draco labeled "One-night stand position number three," regardless of whether or not an actual one-night stand took place, he was sure that that progress would be blown to bits.

He tried not to dwell on how good her body felt against his own, because as much as he enjoyed being like this with her, he would enjoy keeping what made him a man even more. He shifted her lightly, trying to gauge the deepness of her sleep. She didn't stir, but it did manage to send a bit more drool splattering onto his shirt. Suppressing a chuckle, he used the tip of his finger to close her mouth gently. Normally, he found drool detestable, but at this moment, it was hard not to find her adorable. He cleared his throat lightly, wondering why his feelings toward Granger had seemed to be on fast-forward the last few days. From the moment he'd seen Weasley's rather appealing memory of her, he'd felt like a teenage boy with his first crush. But that was utterly ridiculous, because Malfoys, under no circumstances, were to have any sort of "crush." Rule number 384.

He carefully removed her arm from around him, and placed it by her side, slowly rolling onto his side and laying her gently down on her back. He shifted until she was flat on her back and he was hovering over her, his legs outside of hers. His position over her was intimate and somewhat predatory. She was like a radiant goddess beneath him, and he her overprotective mate. It was glorious.

For much of his life, he'd been slowly sinking into a cavernous abyss, each foul deed pushing him deeper and deeper, with only the smallest glint of light reminding him of the world above. That abyss was his prison, a prison from which he'd been steadily trying to work his way out.

But it was an arduous climb to the top, for it took a great number of good deeds to nullify one wrong-doing. Sometimes it seemed like such a hopeless penance, an unreachable goal. But then there were moments—moments when he gained more ground in an instant than in previous months combined. There were times when he felt so close to that light that his eyes burned from the brightness, times when he felt within arm's reach of that opening to another world, another life—like when Granger mentioned his donation to the Lycanthropy Fund. Looking at her now, seeing her peaceful expression, knowing that she trusted him enough to let her guard down, it elevated him to a new height.

She sighed and shifted a bit, and reason came crashing back at him like waves at high tide. How had he come to this point? Out of nowhere, Granger, who had never shown any interest in giving him her forgiveness or anything else, asks him to take part in some project. And boom! Next, he's saving Granger from some scum and spending the night on her couch. He laughed bitterly.

Perhaps, it was _all _a dream.

He'd been working his arse off towards some sort of redemption for years with little to no progress, or at least no progress where Granger was concerned. He had inadvertently adopted Hermione as some sort of gauge for his worthiness. And up until now, they had seemed to agree wholeheartedly that there was nothing good about him. After all, he didn't deserve forgiveness. He really didn't even deserve to be here—standing on solid ground, breathing clean air, smiling pretend smiles. And he definitely didn't deserve to be hovering over Hermione Granger's sleeping form. He deserved to rot in hell, just like his father.

Because hating himself was easy. He didn't know how to be good, and as much as he tried to reach that level of goodness, he never really expected to make it beyond the first rung of the ladder.

And now somehow, within mere hours he had gone from being the person she despised to a person she trusted enough to wrap her arms around in a sleepy embrace. And to say it plainly, he was terrified. It was easy to do kind things when people expected him to fail, but if people, Hermione specifically, began to expect righteous behavior as the norm—no, he couldn't handle that. He couldn't _do _that. He was mortified of being a part of that elevated group, of being above his former self, because it was such a long way to fall.

His heart was thumping anxiously in his chest and he could feel the perspiration dampening his forehead. Sighing, he carefully maneuvered himself up and off the couch, before taking three large steps away from Hermione. He breathed in, cherishing the unique fragrance of her scent and his mixed together. He took a moment to soak her in, because this was something he wouldn't repeat. It wasn't something he _could _repeat. But perhaps this, this would be enough to get him through. It never hurt to have a little more light in the darkness.

And with one last look, he fled.

The rest of the week passed in a hectic haze of confusion and avoidance of all things Hermione. It was twenty-four hours before he actually acknowledged to himself that something of meaning had happened between them. Five hours after that, he concluded that he wasn't totally averse to a relationship with Granger that extended beyond enmity. Three more hours and he was feeling a little bit better about the whole 'Good Person' thing. And a grand thirty seconds after that, he realized just how huge a mistake it had been, walking out on her. It wasn't even necessary to note that these new conclusions violated a number of rules from the Malfoy Canon: rules number 3, 17, 72, and 168, to name a few.

But it wasn't until Sunday morning that he approached the necklace for Granger's little experiment. With foreboding rippling through his fingers, he flipped it open. It was like two separate dragons, mirror images of each other and connected at the tail. He was sure that was an accident, because Granger couldn't possibly have known how much this pendant represented his true self. There had always been two dragons, two Dracos, with two separate wills, sets of morals, and goals. One was right and one was backward. He still wasn't quite sure whether he was the correct version of a dragon, or the perverse one, or maybe a bit of both.

Before he could change his mind, he pressed his left thumb onto the backward dragon, struck by the irony of the necklace searching through his memories of a past where he had most definitely chosen a backward way of thinking. When the warmth below his thumb subsided, he pressed his right thumb to its corresponding side.

His vision went blurry, he closed his eyes, and his feet were once again pounding across the pavement, only now his vision was quite clear. He was right down the street from the Ministry and Hermione was being assaulted a few blocks away. As he ran towards her, his heart was beating in an oddly unusual pattern. When the man hit her with his gun, he felt as though his heart had actually frozen in his chest, but a moment later his arms were around her. He stared at her face, she was squinting with the pain, and he was horrified to see blood trickling down the side of her face. They were both speaking, but he wasn't paying any attention. The way he was feeling, he would have thought that he was the one that had just been assaulted. Sure, he had felt worried the day before, but now the panic was overwhelming. She gave him a tired smile and the rush of worry in his chest subsided. She stumbled, and then was once again in his arms before he Apparated them away.

When it came to the point where she took his hand in hers, he had the feeling that this was like the opening scene in a movie or the beginning of a book; it was the moment that set the rest of the plot in motion. And he understood with frightening clarity that that was precisely why the necklace had chosen this moment.

As the memory ended, a flipping sensation was dominating his midsection and his mouth felt as though he'd been swimming in an ocean of sand. His mind once again became dark and fuzzy, but he could hear clear tinkling laughter as the next memory began. It wasn't a laugh he'd heard often, only once in fact, but it was the type of laugh you remember, mainly because she is the type of girl you remember. Then there was a quick flash of her face that only lasted a few seconds, but it didn't take long to realize that she had most definitely been glaring. This image was followed by one of his hand taking hold of hers as though to pull her upwards. Again, this "memory" wasn't actually a memory at all. But he wondered if it would be soon enough. It ended with a vision of her smiling demurely with a blush shining magnificently on her cheeks. She was wearing a men's shirt that swallowed up her tiny form. Then his stomach did the biggest flip yet so far.

It was _his _shirt.

The clock on the wall behind him began to chime, pulling him out of his reverie. He cursed. He was late for lunch at the Weasleys' and Rule number 9 states quite clearly that Malfoys are NEVER late. He pulled himself from the memory and returned the pendant to its home around his neck. He threw on a coat and stuffed his wand into the waistband of his trousers. He laughed at the thought of Alastor Moody seeing what he'd just done. On several occasions, he'd been privy to one of Mad Eye's "wand in the back pocket" lectures, but with his wand's current location, he could lose something much more valuable than his buttocks.

He turned sharply and disappeared without a thought, especially without a thought of who he might encounter at the Burrow.

He reappeared inside a quiet Weasley kitchen. He glanced at Molly's infamous clock to see that every single hand representing different members of the Weasley clan was pointing perfectly to "home."

He heard Ron's raucous laughter coming from outside and couldn't help the small smirk that donned on his face. He made a beeline for the door and opened it to see a large table of happy, laughing people. The twins were the first to see him, and greeted him with loud shouts of "Ferret Boy!"

He normally detested any mentions of ferrets, but the twins were an exception. They could call him whatever they wanted as long as they continued to include him in their pranks. Fred and George somehow managed to give him a glimpse of the chaotic and crazy childhood he'd never really had.

"Sorry I'm late. I was working and got a little distracted." He made his way to the table.

"No worries, mate," Harry replied before shaking his hand.

Draco felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see another proffered hand; when his eyes followed the arm connected to that hand, he was led straight to the sickening sight that was Ronald Weasley's food-filled mouth. Ron attempted a greeting, but only succeeded in introducing some of his lunch to Draco's face.

Ginny offered him a napkin, and with a characteristic Malfoy scowl, he wiped his face.

"Nice to see you as well, Weasley."

The table broke into laughter and Ron just smiled sheepishly. Draco grinned and looked around at the people who had done something he never would have had the courage to do—forgiven him. It was times like these when he was most envious of the Weasleys and the love they shared, but then he would remind himself that they had willingly given him the same love. His eyes passed from one laughing face to another, his smile broadening with each one.

But his smile faltered and then collapsed completely when he came to a bushy brunette whose eyes where fixed decisively in the opposite direction. He instantly felt his sweat glands kick into high gear. The only seat open was directly across from her.

He cursed silently. He should have realized that she would be here. He had barely come to terms with his own thoughts about their situation, and he certainly had not thought of anything to say to her. There were some things that required weeks of preparation before hand, like top secret deadly missions, or inventing new spells, or battling a herd of giants, or, say, talking to Granger after doing possibly the most stupid thing a human being could do. And the truly sad part of it all was that he wasn't completely sober when he had done it, which left him with no excuse other than his pitiful skill at handling Granger and Gryffindors in general.

He realized that the laughter had stopped and was now replaced with a dozen or so eyes peering at him peculiarly. He cleared his throat and made his way over to the open space at the table.

As soon as he was seated, the Weasleys jumped right back into conversation.

"I don't care what you say, Percy, people don't care any more about ink prices than they did about cauldron bottoms."

"Oh, don't give him such a hard time, Ron. He was the inspiration behind our bottomless cauldrons. They've been a best seller in our shop." Fred smiled.

"Hey, I came up with that Fairy Friends idea!" Ron interjected proudly.

"Yeah, thanks, Ron. So far, the only people to purchase them have been you and that group of six-year-old girls."

Draco laughed, but immediately stifled his amusement, when he noticed that Hermione was rigid and stabbing at her food as though it were the remains of the Dark Lord himself.

He cleared his throat once more, wanting her to look at him, but at the same time terrified that she might.

Hermione could feel the heat of his stare on her, but it couldn't possible compare to the fiery rage burning in her chest. It took all her self-control not stab him with her fork instead of spearing her lunch.

She heard the conversation turn to Quidditch and tuned it out completely, instead brainstorming all possible endings to this lunch, other than the obvious homicide, of course.

She saw his hand reach forward and flinched involuntarily, only to see him grab the bowl of potatoes. She had barely resisted sinking her fork into the back of his hand. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done it (even though that first incident had been entirely Ron's fault).

Lunch lasted for another excruciating forty-five minutes, until Hermione was finally rescued when Ginny invited her upstairs to look at some of her new clothing. She immediately accepted, perhaps a little too quickly, and the two made their way into the house, while the boys began their regular Sunday Quidditch match.

Ginny smiled, "I told Mum that I only bought a jumper or two, but between you and me, I got a little carried away. I haven't even tried it all on. I hope it all fits, because…"

They entered Ginny's bedroom and Hermione could just see a few flying figures through the window. It wasn't hard to tell which one was Malfoy, with his platinum hair and sleek figure, not to mention the way he flattened himself against the broom, almost as though the two of them were one. She also knew that he had a tendency to lean ever so slightly to the right as he flew, not that she could see that from here, but she knew he was doing it nonetheless.

Don't mistake her motives here. It wasn't as though she'd spent years pining after him or weeks adoringly watching him play Quidditch with the Weasleys on Sundays. Okay, so she had been watching him, but it certainly hadn't been with adoration. She'd spent months after the war, studying him, doing everything to prove that he wasn't repentant. She knew every line and angle of his face. She knew that when he was uncomfortable, he cleared his throat about every other minute. She knew that when he was happy, genuinely happy, he didn't smile or laugh, he would simply close his eyes and breathe in deeply, as though to memorize everything about the moment. She knew that the only time he ever stuttered was when he lied. She knew so much about him, but she just didn't know him.

"… Don't you just love this green, Hermione? _Hermione_?"

Hermione's reverie was broken at the sight of Ginny holding a green satin dress that was the exact shade of Harry's eyes (probably the reason Ginny picked it).

"Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

"Of course, Gin. And I do love that color of green, although it bears a striking resemblance to the eyes of someone we know." She smiled knowingly.

"Well, in that case, what did you think of that yellow sundress I bought?" Ginny asked.

"It was beautiful, Gin. Harry will love it."

"Aha!" Ginny cried, "I hadn't shown you the yellow sundress yet! You weren't listening to me!"

Hermione sighed and collapsed onto Ginny's bed.

"What's got you so distracted?"

"Nothing," Hermione replied, "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Well, in that case, I have something that will cheer you up. It just so happens that the yellow sundress I bought doesn't fit."

"And that's going to cheer me up?" Hermione asked.

"Of course, because it just happens to be your size and I think it would look fabulous on you."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she sat up straight, "You did this on purpose."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny replied, "I just bought the wrong size is all."

"Ginny, you have the figure of someone who hasn't eaten in twelve years, and I'm roughly the size of, well, of something that has been eating for the past twelve years. There's no way you got my size by accident."

"That's where you are partially correct." Ginny smiled, "I did get your size by accident, it's just not the overly big size you normally wear. This dress will actually fit you and I guarantee it will look smashing!"

Hermione stood and scowled. She was moving towards the door when Ginny stepped in front of her, dress in hand.

"Just try it on, that's all I ask."

Hermione rolled her eyes. With a sigh she took hold of the dress and began to put it on. One zipper and a few ties later, she was strapped in.

Just as Hermione preferred, it wasn't too over the top. It seemed that Ginny knew her style after all. It cinched at the waist with a pearl- colored belt. It was a conservative cut, nothing too revealing, and flowed out generously from the waist to give a lovely swirl effect. It wasn't overly decorated, just some light embroidery around the hem.

If she wasn't a reserved and classy type of girl, Hermione might have giggled loudly and twirled around the room like a three-year-old pretending to be a princess. Instead, she settled for a small smile and a glance in the mirror.

"You like it?"

Hermione gave a curt nod.

"Oh God, you love it!" Ginny cried jubilantly, "I picked out a dress made in the last decade and you actually love it." She smiled. "Go me!"

'Yes, yes, have your little moment. How much do I owe you?" she asked.

"Nonsense," Ginny smiled. "This one's on me. And before you protest, you took me out to lunch twice last week, so this is my thank you."

"But—"

"Merlin, 'Mione, take it or I'll send you out to watch the boys play Quidditch."

Hermione's eyes widened and she held her breath, "I-I-I no, I mean, of course I'll take it." She wrapped her arms around herself, as though clinging to the dress like her last hope.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow, "That was almost too easy. I know you aren't particularly fond of Quidditch, but why the panic?"

Hermione blanched and searched for an explanation. She cleared her throat. "Humidity."

Ginny stared at her, making Hermione want to ram her head into the nearest wall. 'Humidity?' she thought. 'Head Girl of Hogwarts and all I can come up with is 'humidity'?'

Ginny smiled warily and said, "That humidity is a real bugger this time of year. Not to mention the other buggers outside. Ron ," she paused. "The twins…" She waited again. "Harry?"

Hermione remained motionless.

"Draco?"

Hermione tried not to react, but she felt her eye twitch, and the look on Ginny's face suggested that she saw it, too. Before the fiery red-head could pose any unwanted questions, Hermione's stomach growled, reminding her that she'd barely eaten anything at lunch, and giving her the perfect excuse for a get-away.

In record time, she was out the door and down the stairs into the kitchen. Her heartbeat sounded like it was on fast forward and her entire body seemed to be shaking against her will. She tried to pick up a plate, but could barely hold it still. Instead she settled on an apple, nothing too difficult. She took a long calming breath and sank her teeth into the apple.

"Granger."

She nearly choked on the apple, but managed to calmly turn around, apple in the mouth and all.

She gauged him carefully and thought she saw just a hint of a smile.

"That good?" Draco asked.

She merely glared over the top of her green apple.

He swallowed, "I thought so." He picked up another apple, a red one, and tossed it back and forth between his hands carelessly.

Hermione waited anxiously, holding the apple, but not removing it from her mouth. As long as she kept the thing in her mouth, she didn't have to speak.

He cleared his throat. Sign number one that he was uncomfortable.

He stood at the counter with his back to her, rolling the apple across the countertop. He was trying to distract himself, which meant he was nervous. She took one last bite of the apple, smirked, and tossed it in the trash. It was time to take the offensive.

She sucked in all her anger and buried it beneath a fake smile.

"It's humid out," she began quietly.

He nodded briskly and she noticed that there was a line of sweat down the back of his shirt. He turned around and he glanced down at her dress once, twice, three times, and then looked out the window.

She resisted the urge to pick up another apple and throw it at him.

He cleared his throat and said in an almost-whisper, "Nice."

She scowled and tightened her fist. "Thank you, but I can do without your degrading stares. Try it again and I'll pluck out your eyes and feed them to—"

"I was talking about the weather." He smirked.

"Oh." She froze. So much for going on the offensive.

He smothered a smile and crossed behind her to put the apple back in the basket on the table.

"I've got some work to do. I think I'm going to skip out a little early."

She stiffened. "Would you like me to pretend to be asleep? Would that make it easier for you?"

She was clutching the countertop with white fingers. He didn't respond, but he did give a small laugh, which surprisingly didn't make her angrier. Instead, it loosened her up a bit, but only slightly.

She jumped when she felt his breath on her shoulder. He'd been completely silent as he sneaked up on her. He stood directly behind her, not touching her, or leaning down towards her. The interaction wasn't any more personal than standing in line with a stranger.

"Just so you know…"-- she felt the slightest of touches on the strap of her dress-- "…I wasn't talking about the weather."

Her breath caught in her throat, but by the time she'd gathered enough sense to turn around, he was gone.

She went upstairs, but Ginny was no longer there. She gingerly removed the dress, and dressed again in her old jeans and jumper. She was tempted to leave the forsaken dress there because she had a feeling it was going to get her in trouble.

When she was halfway toward the door, she paused and turned around. She thought of the way he'd looked at her in that dress. Before she could change her mind, she picked up the dress and stuffed it in her bag.

Just before she Apparated, she whispered, "I'm definitely going to regret this."


	4. Chapter 4

_"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." -David Viscott _

We Happy Few

Sun from Both Sides

He breathed in deeply, memorizing this moment- the sound, smell and sight of everything. He loved the first day of sunshine after a spell of rain. The sunshine broke through the clouds, and when he closed his eyes, vivid hues of purple and blue danced across his eyelids.

An image of Granger in her perfect little yellow dress flashed through his mind, and he smiled. She had looked so adorable with that apple stuffed in her mouth, afraid to talk. Oh if only he were an apple. Or really, if he were wishing for things, he wished he were that yellow dress, fit snugly against the curves of her body, feeling the warmth radiating off her skin, and rising and falling with her every breath.

"Malfoy."

His vision was interrupted by a forceful slap on the back, quickly followed by the appearance of one Ron Weasley by his side. He shook his head to clear his mind. What had gotten in to him lately? She was just Granger.

"You're looking rather pink, Malfoy," Harry Potter replied, stepping up to stand beside Ron.

"It's because his alien skin can't handle the sunlight," Ron laughed.

Draco laughed along and nodded, but was pretty certain that the sun had nothing to do with his coloring.

The boys spent the next hour or so playing Quidditch at the Manor, which ended up being a game of keep away from the Weasel, one of Draco's favorites.

Every time Ron failed to steal the ball, his face would become a little redder. By the end of the game it was looking as though the Weasel might pop. When Draco voiced this observation, Harry laughed and began to sing some song about a mulberry bush. Draco called him an arse and the game continued. Not three minutes later, Ron was huffing heavily and murmuring expletives under his breath, so Harry, being the nicer of the two of them, suggested that they end the game and get some refreshments.

Draco yielded, but not before mocking, " I swear, the way we take it easy on you, Weasley, it's like playing with a girl. I take that back, the Weaslette is a girl. Maybe we should invite her to play next time. I'm sure Potter wouldn't mind."

Ron only laughed sarcastically and replied, "I may play like a girl, but at least I haven't been confused for one."

"Hey!" Draco yelled. "That was a long time ago. And it's not my fault that the Malfoys (rule 51) must maintain long, silky, exquisite hair."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair once due to force of habit.

"Keep stroking your hair in that manner, and Ron might just ask you on a date," Harry cut in.

Ron and Draco stopped, looked at each other, immediately turned the opposite direction, and produced almost identical faces of disgust.

Harry continued, "Now be a good little housewife, Malfoy, and grab the men of the house some drinks."

Ron laughed and threw his arm around Harry's shoulders, as though a great victory had been won.

Draco looked back and forth between them and laughed.

"Men of the house? Always knew you were a bunch of poofs. Weasel, are you planning on taking Potter's last name or will you hyphenate?"

"I'll hyphenate your face!" Ron called.

Draco just laughed and walked away.

"'Hyphenate your face'?" Harry asked, "That's really all you could come up with?"

Ron blushed. "Yeah, well. I'm still tired from the game."

Draco reappeared moments later, drinkless.

"Oi, where are the drinks?"

A loud crack sounded and a house elf appeared carrying a tray with three chilled butterbeers.

"Minty took care of it," Draco answered.

"So, Weasley." Draco took a swig of butterbeer. "Ready to be another year closer to wrinkles, gray hair, and loss of bladder control?"

"Sure." Ron shrugged noncommittally.

"What kind of celebrations do we have planned then, Ronnikins?"

"Nothing really. Probably just have everyone over to the Burrow."

Draco refrained from sneering in response to mention of their home. They might be friends, but that place still gave him the shudders.

"Well, that won't do. Why don't we have a party here?" Draco asked.

"Here?" Ron questioned.

"Yes, here. At the Manor. We'll even make it a pool party. I'm sure you never had one of those as a child."

Ron glanced at Harry, as though clearing it with him first. Harry smiled and nodded. Ron turned back to Draco, a huge grin spread across his face.

"We may just become friends yet, Malfoy."

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook his head. "Doubt it."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hermione was making no breakthroughs at work. She'd contacted almost everyone involved in the project to see how the lockets were working. Everyone had had completely normal results. Well, almost everyone. Ron and Harry were out playing Quidditch when she Flooed. And there was one person whom she hadn't yet summoned the courage to contact.

_Here's a hint. His name starts with an "D" and ends with "ick," I mean, "raco." _

Hermione smiled at her own little joke, but then a guilty feeling settled in her stomach and she closed her eyes. Why did she even care? She hadn't cared in the past. She was proceeding to bang her head against her desk when the crackling of a fire was heard behind her, and her two best friends stepped out of the fire and into her flat.

"It's barely five o' clock, and you're already resorting to death by self-imposed bludgeoning?" Harry asked. "Bad day at work?" Ron ventured.

Hermione nodded, which only caused her to smack her forehead against the table again.

She cursed under her breath, and rubbing her head, turned to face the two men.

"Have you two been playing Quidditch all this time?"

Ron's face reddened at the thought of their earlier game of keep-away, but a look from Harry calmed him… a little.

"We played for a while, then just hung out with Malfoy."

At the mention of his name, almost as if by habit, she felt the strong urge to bang her head against the desk once more. Ron looked at her questioningly, so she refrained, but it took a great deal of effort.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and even Ron noted the effect that any mention of Malfoy had on Hermione.

Harry spoke first. "So what was it that you wanted to talk to us about?"

Hermione released a heavy breath, thankful for the sway in conversation.

"I wanted to see how everything was coming along with the lockets."

"Fine, I suppose," Harry countered. "Nothing out of the ordinary, works just fine, great actually."

Hermione nodded, but Harry's good news did not have the desired effect. If anything, she became more crestfallen.

She turned next to Ron, who was looking oddly peaked. "Ron, what about you?"

Ron thought of his locket and the memory that he had unwillingly shared with Malfoy, and was unable to look her in the eye.

"Ron?"

"F-Fine," he mumbled.

_"Ronald!"_ she commanded.

He looked up then, with a anxious look in his eyes. "It's… er… good. Really good."

"What are you not telling me?" she questioned.

He proceeded to mumble dejectedly under his breath. She caught a few words here and there.

"Don't want… private… stupid Malfoy."

"Malfoy? What about Malfoy?" Hermione perked up, her previous gloomy exterior gone.

"I just… he… we…" he stuttered.

"Are Malfoy's memories normal, Ron?" she asked slowly, almost like speaking to a small child.

Ron considered outing Malfoy for a moment, but then he looked at Hermione, and a vision of a lion devouring its red-headed prey flashed before his eyes.

"I really don't know. You'd have to ask him."

Hermione's frown returned and she fisted her hands in her hair.

"Listen, Hermione, We've got to get going," Harry said. "But we wanted to let you know that Ron's birthday is now going to be at Malfoy Manor."

Hermione growled in frustration. "Of course it is."

"It's a pool party!" he yelled. When the frown on Hermione's face deepened, he added, amused, "You know…with _water_?"

Hermione sighed and Harry was pretty sure he heard her whisper, "Kill me."

Ron was oblivious to her apparent torture, his mind wandering to the upcoming festivities.

"Anyway," Harry continued, dragging Ron towards the fireplace, "we'll see you then, okay?"

"Whatever," she mumbled.

The two of them disappeared in a flash of green, taking her last bit of composure with them.

She let out a small shriek, fell onto the sofa, and buried her head into a pillow.

"Why?" she thought, "Why can't Ron be hydrophobic?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ron's birthday dawned with copious amounts of sunshine and temperatures that left everyone sweating and slightly red in the face.

Hermione was once again lying on the sofa, her head buried in a pillow.

"Why?" she thought again. "Why couldn't Ron have been born in winter when it's too cold to swim?"

She was dreading everything about this day. She was dreading seeing Draco. And she was definitely dreading seeing Draco while dressed in a swim suit. She found that she wasn't, however, dreading seeing him dressed in swimming attire. In fact, she dreaded that she didn't dread seeing him half-naked.

Draco, who was currently dictating assignments to house-elves, was experiencing quite the opposite feeling. Those giant mutant butterflies had returned and had taken up residence in his chest. They left him shaken and slightly overwhelmed, but these were good giant mutant butterflies. Because they were giant mutant butterflies that proclaimed the arrival of a swim-clad Hermione Granger within the hour.

He was already dressed in swim trunks with a white sleeveless shirt. He found himself glancing at his watch every other minute and had to force himself to calm down. "Malfoys must always be patient," as dictated by the Malfoy Canon in rule number 22.

Soon, a gaggle of redheads had arrived, and he was pulled into a fiercely appreciative hug by Mrs. Weasley.

"You're so kind to host the party here. Ron's just been beside himself with excitement the past few days. " Molly smiled.

"It was really nothing, Molly," Draco replied, "I'm glad to do it."

Molly was just about to hug him for the fourth time when the twins appeared between them.

"Now, now, Mum," Fred began. "If you hug Draco any more , the little birthday boy might get jealous." He ushered her away.

Fred and George grinned and turned towards Draco, "You're welcome, mate." The thank-you was understood. "She might have been at that for another hour if we hadn't sent her on her way."

Draco laughed and clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.

At that moment, Ron and Harry burst into laughter and did a sort of jig together that looked altogether ridiculous.

Draco cleared his throat. "There's a little too much happiness going on here, if you know what I mean. What do you two say to a couple of drinks?"

The twins gave simultaneous nods and within minutes they were nursing a few lemonades with a little something extra added. The alcohol loosened that tight feeling in his chest and did wonders for his nerves.

"Hermione!" Ron yelled, but Draco hadn't needed it to be aware of her arrival. Something in him could feel her, like one can feel the sun. Her presence was preceded by warmth and light that did strange things to the dark places of his heart.

Draco resisted the urge to spin around as quick as he could. He struggled to remain cool and aloof.

"Hermione, where's your suit?" Draco heard Potter question.

"I've decided against swimming today," she replied in a business-like manner that no one would dare question.

Draco felt his excitement plummet. His rather selfish hopes for the day were dashed. He took another sip of his drink, steeling himself, then turned. At the sight of her, his eyes widened, and the giant mutant butterflies seemed to all fly towards her at once, causing him to stumble forward slightly.

She was wearing the yellow dress.

He watched her as she walked, the fabric flowing out gracefully around her thighs, toned and trimmed by strenuous activity during the war. Her eyes wandered around the group, nodding at those whose eyes she met. Her eyes passed over him, gave a curt nod, but did not acknowledge him beyond that, nor did she look at him for more than a moment.

She was still angry that he walked out on her. And her anger was doubled by the way he had got under her skin at the Burrow. She refused to be affected by him. So she'd started defensive strategy number one: avoidance.

He puffed his chest out indignantly, and determined that by the end of the evening she wouldn't be able to take her eyes off him. If Draco lacked one thing when it came to the ladies, it was the ability to discern the difference between love and war. He was like a little boy on the playground, determined to be noticed by a girl, even if it meant pulling her pigtails to catch her attention.

He started out just hovering near her, striking up conversations with whoever happened to be close to her, but he received no response. He exhausted every humorous anecdote he knew and was getting close to setting a world record for the number of witty comments made within one hour. But still, nothing.

He decided then to raise the stakes a bit.

"Weasley!" he yelled. Several red-heads turned towards him and she did also, though she observed him with a disinterested stare.

He shot her a quick look then whipped off his shirt, revealing a smooth, toned chest.

"This is a pool party, people. Ron, as it is your birthday, you get the first jump."

Ron, too, removed his shirt, and, with something resembling a battle cry, dove into the pool. Draco was next, his body arching in a graceful dive.

Hermione had to close her eyes to keep from staring as the muscles of his torso rippled with movement. She was reminded of the elegant flight of a dove as his body moved seamlessly. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he got to her.

When Draco emerged from the water, his flaxen hair stuck to forehead, she was absorbed in conversation with Mrs. Weasley. Draco's eyes narrowed and his determination doubled.

Draco next tried to woo her through the primal art of battle, or in this case, racing.

He challenged Weasley first, whose long awkward limbs produced movements that were no match for his sleek and obviously well-practiced strokes. He'd won by nearly half the length of the pool.

The twins were next, but they barely made it one lap before their focus shifted from winning the race to attempting to drown Draco. All in good fun, of course.

Potter declined his challenge, saying, "I've been lucky in my previous skirmishes with Slytherins. I dare not tempt fate more than I already have."

Draco laughed. "Glad to see you finally admit it was all luck."

It seemed that Draco's new tactic was far from successful. He had a feeling that Hermione wasn't one to be wooed by masculine displays of strength and pride. And he would be right. His swimming victories did absolutely nothing for her. It was the way his body moved as though it were one with the water that had her weak in the knees. Watching the water cling to him made her yearn to do the same.

When no more challengers volunteered, Harry went on to teach everyone a Muggle game, which basically consisted of a team of two boys, one on the other's shoulders, trying to topple another duo into the pool.

Hermione watched for a while, laughing so hard that she was nearly reduced to tears every time Draco crashed clumsily into the water.

The hours passed by quickly and soon Ron had opened all his presents and was busy devouring a large piece of Quidditch-themed cake that the Malfoy house elves had made especially for him.

For the first time that evening Draco found himself in the same group of people as Hermione, consisting of her, Potter, Longbottom, and himself. She was laughing openly, recalling one of his more magnificent "chicken" crashes, and Draco reveled in the sound of her laughing, clear and tinkling. As always though, he managed to ruin it with a snarky jab towards Potter and her laughter stopped suddenly only to be replaced by a glare. She opened her mouth to reply when Longbottom turned around quickly and bumped into her, causing her to lose her balance. Draco watched as she seemed to float backwards, her yellow dress fanning out around her like the rays of the sun. She was glorious, her body supported gently by the air, floating briefly like a feather in the wind.

He heard the crash and the water of the pool swallowed her greedily. His heart refused to beat in the few moments it took her to resurface. She came up sputtering, her curly hair sticking to her face and neck.

He heard Neville muttering apologies next to him, but registered nothing as he charged towards the edge of the pool. He extended his hand to her, the space between them crackling. She looked up at him then and she was laughing.

He loved it when she laughed.

She placed her hand in his and the rest of the world ceased to be. It didn't matter that she was the daughter of a Muggle and he, the son of a Death Eater. It meant nothing that they'd despised each other for years. The people surrounding them were mere pieces of the scenery. There was only here and now, the two of them hand in hand-- just like it had all begun.

She gave a lopsided grin and squeezed his hand momentarily. It felt as though she were squeezing his heart. He smiled back and saw her smirk. It was one of those moments when he saw himself in her, then he felt a forceful tug, and in the next moment, he was tipping towards her. He sucked in a deep breath, not just because of his imminent watery collision, but because her hand still remained firmly connected to his own. He slipped below the surface of the water, his open eyes stinging briefly. But the pain was worth seeing the yellow dress stuck to her curves, the skirt floating whimsically around her, baring more than a hint of her long legs.

He squeezed her hand once and then tugged her underneath the water with him. He could tell she'd been highly amused by her stunt, because the laughter was still evident on her face. And he pulled her close to him. Her hair was spread wide under the water, covering them like a canopy.

He looked at her and she at him. Neither made a move. Neither gave thought to the people outside their watery haven. They were simply frozen in a moment that should have stretched on for days. Draco leaned towards her slowly and touched her wild hair with his free hand. He thought he saw her leaning forward, too, but then she blinked and the irrepressible need to breathe raced through him.

He seized her free hand and pulled her up. The two broke the water simultaneously, and with it, the pull between them was broken and their hands were separated, cool water filling the space where heated flesh had been.

It was then that Draco noticed the laughter and cheering that surrounded every edge of the pool. He smiled and his own laughter soon followed. He nodded his head in the direction of the pool steps and Hermione followed. He emerged from the pool first, quickly grabbing two towels and offering one to Hermione. He had loved seeing the yellow dress soaked and stuck to her figure, but that didn't mean anyone else needed to see it.

She took the towel gratefully and Draco saw a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

Several people patted her on the back and stopped to tease Draco, but after a few moments the excitement had settled and everyone had returned to their previous involvements.

The air between them seemed light with enjoyment, but at the same time heavy with something that Draco wanted to term lust, but something told him that that wasn't quite the right word.

It was then that he saw her shiver and realized that the sun had long since set, leaving a chilly breeze in the air.

"Let's go inside and get you dry before you get ill," he offered softly.

She nodded in reply.

He led her through the patio doors and towards the stairs. He placed his hand on her shoulder to guide her up the stairs and noticed that the towel he'd given her was already soaked through.

"Granger, that towel is drenched."

"I-I know." She shivered.

Draco gaped. "Then take it off!"

Hermione blushed vividly and shook her head fiercely.

"Granger, I won't be blamed for you catching pneumonia. The Golden Boys would kill me."

Still she shook her head.

"Granger," he said warningly, prepared the take the towel off her forcefully.

"Okay, okay," she conceded, "But you can't look."

Draco raised an eyebrow in response, but made no comment. He dutifully turned his back on her and then flourished a hand as if to say, 'well, get on with it then.'

He heard the wet slap as the towel hit the floor and she breathed a sigh of relief.

He turned slightly to say something over his shoulder when her hand pushed his head back in the opposite direction.

"No looking," she replied simply.

"Merlin, Granger, I get it. I was just going to say follow me upstairs."

She huffed indignantly, but followed him up the stairs nonetheless. He stopped at a large wooden door and pulled the brass doorknob. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized he'd brought her to his room. His bedroom, of all places!

She was glad that he was not looking, or he might have seen her embarrassment.

He pointed towards the en-suite and said, "I'll find you something dry to wear. You can just leave your dress in there. I'll have a house-elf take care of it for you."

"Nonsense, Malfoy," she replied. "I just need a wand, a simple drying charm will do."

"Nonsense, Granger," he mimicked. "A drying charm would ruin such a dress, and I for one intend to see you wear it again."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and mumbled a few things under her breath before closing herself in the loo.

Draco rummaged through his closet looking for something that wouldn't swallow her. He came across one of his favorite shirts, comfortable and slightly worn, and recognition dawned. There was a knowing glint in his eye as he picked up his shirt, and a pair of boxers. The pieces started to fall into place as he recognized bits of the evening from the scene he'd seen in his Lock-er-necklace.

And he knew what was coming next. His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he knocked on the door.

"I found some clothes for you."

The door opened and a hand appeared through the crack. He placed the clothing in her hand, allowing his fingers to softly brush hers. She retracted the arm into the bathroom quickly.

He sat down in a chair, a smirk on his face, waiting for the moment from his vision.

And he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"Jesus, Granger!" he called, "You writing a new adaptation of _Hogwarts: A History _in there?"

He heard a growl of frustration and with his curiosity piqued, carefully opened the door to the bathroom and stepped in side.

"Malfoy!" she cried fearfully.

"Relax, I'm not looking," he said, his eyes closed. "What's taking you so long?"

She paused for a moment before answering, as though ashamed to admit her difficulty.

"It's these stupid buttons. They're on the wrong side!"

"That's because it's a men's shirt, Granger," he replied, shooting a momentary glance at her through the bathroom mirror.

"I know that! And I was finally starting to get the hang of it when I realized I'd buttoned the whole thing wrong!"

He chanced another look at her through the mirror, and saw her fiddling with the buttons. Unfortunately, the shirt was pulled tightly closed, affording him no chance of seeing a bit of what was hidden behind the fabric of his shirt.

In a moment, he found himself behind her, his eyes closed, but dangerously close.

"May I help?" he whispered into her ear.

Without her permission, he reached around her and caught the bottom of the shirt in his hands. He felt her sharp intake of breath.

"I won't even look," he replied as his hands did up the very bottom button.

She didn't reply, but he felt her nod shakily, as he moved up to the next button.

He slowly did button after button, with only their breathing, growing steadily heavier, filling the space of the room. As he reached the buttons around her lower ribcage, he opened his eyes and saw her staring at him through the mirror, her eyes dark.

The shirt started to curve outward as he neared her breasts, and he pulled her closer to him. Her breath hitched, and he felt her press back against him.

He finished the button directly below the curve of her breasts and then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and then opened them again. Their eyes connected in the mirror and he felt as though his body might incinerate from the heat between them.

"I'm looking," he whispered.

"I know."

His eyes swept her entire form once and then he slowly moved towards the next button.

Their eyes remained locked as he carefully slipped the button inside its corresponding hole.

He probably should have done up one more button, but then he noticed her locket, in the form of a book, resting against her sternum, and decided to leave it visible.

With all the strength he had, he managed to step away from her. He looked at her and was immediately confronted with the exact image from his vision.

"Perfect," he whispered, and then took a step closer, this time facing her.

"What?" she asked, amazed that she still had the ability to create speech.

"You." He gently touched the collar of the shirt, allowing his finger to brush her neck for the barest of seconds. "In my shirt." Her eyes fluttered closed.

And then he kissed her.

And it was all warmth and light-- like feeling the sun from both sides.

A/N: Don't hate me for ending it there! Just hold on a bit longer. There's only one chapter left! And a huge thanks goes out to my beta Eilonwy, who has done marvelous things with this fic!


	5. The Making of Memories

We Happy Few

Previously: "And then he kissed her. And it was all warmth and light, like feeling the sun from both sides."

"_Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be."_ – Anton Chekhov

There had been very few moments in the life of Draco Malfoy that he could label as "happy." After all, he didn't "do" happiness. But in this moment, he wasn't himself. He was wrapped in a brilliant cocoon of warmth and light that was the very antithesis to his normally cold, dark exterior. This moment was all about her breath on his face, the touch of her lips, and the melodious rhythm of their hearts beating together.

He pulled back slightly, scared that this was another dream, and afraid to open his eyes. This couldn't be real. He was dark and she was light. She would never stoop so low as to be with him. He was like the nighttime, separated from the glory of the sun, separated from her.

He opened his eyes to see that hers were still shut tightly. Then, there was a longing to kiss her again, to never stop kissing her.

So he kissed her again, an innocent touch of lips. And another. And another.

Their tongues met, and instantly their bodies were welded together like hot iron. Her hands fisted in his shirt and his arms were wrapped around her tightly, almost as if she might slip away at any moment.

His hand traced gently down the line of her neck and brushed carefully over the necklace lying on her collar bone, and he was overwhelmed by the need to feel her bare skin, all of it. He needed something substantial to prove that this was real. He dropped his head and placed a light kiss on the locket, the very reason that their futures had come crashing together. At the gesture, she let out a quiet moan and her arms tightened around him.

He took that as permission.

He started with the skin surrounding the necklace, placing a kiss on every bit of it he could reach, relishing the transfer of warmth from her skin to his own.

"You're like heaven," he whispered as he placed a kiss on the first button, before popping it open.

"You're everything I could never reach." He kissed the newly revealed skin and smiled as she shivered.

"And you're everything I'll always want."

She pulled his face up, level with hers, unsure of what to say, placing a hand gently on his cheek and smiling, hoping that he'd understand everything she was feeling.

There was a brief pause, as though time had fallen behind and needed to catch up. And then she leaned into him and laid her hand on his chest. His chest was bare since he'd been swimming, and she studiously traced its lines, exploring his heated skin. She knew that there should be a little voice in the back of her head, telling her to think things through or to slow down. But the world around her was oddly silent, interrupted only by their breathing and the occasional sounds of pleasure.

He felt the overwhelming urge to take her into his arms, throw her on his bed, and ravage her until he could no longer move. But something held him back. He shivered as her tiny hands studied his body, and he knew that this girl was even more special than he thought. He had always known that she was special to many people, to most of the Wizarding World. But for the first time, he was realizing that she special to him, more special than he'd ever wanted to admit. There would never be another girl like her, which meant that there would never be another moment like this one. He felt the acute need to memorize everything about her in case he never got another chance.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt a tentative kiss on his chest. She would trace her finger over an area one, two, three times, and then kiss it lightly. Her fingers next wandered to his nipple and he groaned as she repeated her action there, too.

At his groan, she made to do it again, but he immediately grabbed her wrist before she could. She looked up at him then, curious, and he began a series of open-mouthed kisses from her wrist all the way up her arm. When he could not push the sleeve of her shirt up any further, he placed a final kiss and then spun her around to face the bathroom mirror.

She was pressed tightly against the counter, and he even closer behind her. There was a fire in her belly teetering on the edge of explosion as he licked a trail down her neck and then blew on it, sending a violent shiver down her spine. She rolled her hips against his experimentally and his head dropped onto her shoulder, and he wrapped an arm firmly around her middle, moaning.

Her own hands were splayed wide on the countertop, the only thing keeping her from collapsing into a lust-filled mess. She turned her head to the side and his lips immediately caught hers in a searing kiss. His large hands closed over her own on the countertop, and she hoped he would never let go.

There was a feeling rushing through him that he wasn't sure how to categorize. It was like standing and falling at the same time, like having both roots and wings. He felt as though he'd finally come home after years of being lost and blinded, only to find that home was a vast ocean of discoveries he'd never had the chance to make. Feeling her body move naturally against his own held both the lure of something new and exciting, along with the feeling that something old, something centuries in the making, was finally coming together.

She sighed as he pressed himself closer to her, allowing her to feel the length of him wedged intimately against her bum. She pushed back against him and he broke the kiss, a growl passing from his lips.

He looked at her in the mirror then, her still damp hair, her swollen lips, desire painted pink across her cheeks.

_Merlin, she was beautiful._

Her shirt was halfway unbuttoned, but still covering much of her body. His eyes never leaving hers, he traced a finger down the open part of her shirt until he reached the next button.

She sighed and closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of skin on skin.

"Open your eyes," he whispered, the hand that had been preparing to remove her shirt now quite still.

She did as he said, their eyes once again locking in the mirror.

He opened button after button, caressing the revealed skin as he went, but stopping anytime she broke eye contact.

When he finished, her shirt was open just enough to show a strip of skin.

He whispered to her, but she was too overwhelmed to hear. Her eyes were watering from the intensity of his gaze and the effort to maintain eye contact despite his ministrations.

He stopped and stared at her a moment and then slowly opened her shirt to expose the cream-colored skin of her stomach, and then the smooth swell of her breasts.

He allowed the shirt—his shirt—to drop to the floor, concentrating fully on the picture of the two of them, torsos bare, lined up together in front of the mirror.

There was a moment of simple observation before Hermione, nearly dizzy with lust, pressed her back into his chest, hissing at the first contact. He was hard and smooth against her skin.

"Can I touch you?" he whispered.

She wanted to scream, 'God, yes! Touch me! Kiss me! Anything!'

Instead, she just nodded.

He was nervous, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted everything about their time together to be perfect. But he was Draco Malfoy, and even though Malfoy rule number 17 demanded perfection, he'd never even come close.

He had just started tracing a finger along her side, feeling the ridges of her ribs when there was a knock on the en-suite door.

Her face immediately reddened and she pulled her arms up to cover her chest. Draco swallowed a groan of frustration and called, "Yes?"

"Master?" Minty, the house-elf, called, "The party is ending, sir, everyone be leaving now."

He sighed, "Thank you, Minty. I'll be right down."

They listened as the elf shuffled away, and shut the door to Draco's bedroom.

He looked at her for a moment in the mirror, but she was decidedly looking in another direction.

"I should go back down there."

She swallowed heavily and nodded, "Of course. You are the one _throwing_ this party after all."

He ran his hand down her bare back, and allowed it to settle at her waist.

"I'd much rather throw you on my bed, and kiss every part of your delectable little body."

"Draco!" she cried, her eyes snapping back to his for the first time.

She tried not to blush, but she could feel the heat radiating from her face, nonetheless. And it was even harder to ignore the heat of his hand on her bare skin.

Draco allowed the hand on her waist to wind around to the front and pull her back against him. Her hands were still covering her chest and he allowed his other hand to dance across the skin of her arms.

"No? Suppose that will have to wait until I get back?"

"What?" she questioned, confused.

"You didn't think that I was going to actually let you out of this room, did you? Merlin, woman, with the way you look right now, you're not leaving my head for years, and you're certainly not leaving this room for several hours."

Hermione's blush deepened, but she did not protest.

He smiled, "I'll say a quick goodbye and tell everyone that you decided to Floo home and change clothes."

He kissed her once.

"I'll be right back."

He leaned in and kissed her one more time.

There were three more kisses before he managed to tear himself away and make it to the bedroom door. As he left the room, he glanced back to see her sitting on his bed, her arms still covering her nakedness. He decided that he never wanted to see his bed any other way but with her in it.

She listened to him trek down the stairs and waited until she no longer heard footsteps before lowering her arms.

She was nervous.

It took every ounce of energy she had to not throw on some clothes and make a fast getaway. Not because she didn't want to stay with him. Merlin, she wanted to stay with him forever! But she was Hermione Granger. And Hermione Granger thought things through. She planned, she analyzed, she reasoned. But as she tried to get her brain to do these things, it just wouldn't. She felt as though she should be second-guessing her actions, but the only thing her mind could focus on was the feel of his lips, the heat of his skin, and the way his stare burned a trail straight to the fire still rampaging in her belly.

She needed something, anything, to distract her. She glanced around the room and her eyes landed on a small, black, leather-bound book. The pages looked worn and the covering quite old. Never one to resist the allure of a book, she moved to the nightstand upon which the book was resting.

She took a seat on his bed and opened the book to the first page. It was a blank piece of parchment with "D. Malfoy" scrawled neatly in the upper right corner.

She smiled and allowed her finger to trail across his name lightly and then flipped to the next page to find in big, bold letters the words, "Malfoy Canon."

She released a small giggle, remembering one of Ron's rants about "that prat" and his "stupid family rules."

A grin on her face, she turned to the first page and began to read.

_1. Malfoys must never feel, especially happiness._

She frowned, unsure of how to take this rule. She had always known that the Malfoy family in general was cold and aloof. But what bothered her most was the way Draco had underlined the rule three times and placed a star next to the number one. Her frown deepened, but she continued.

_2. Malfoys are never anything but the best._

She'd heard Draco quote this rule before, and while it was a bit pompous, she could find nothing horribly wrong with it.

_3. Malfoys do not associate with Mudbloods or Blood Traitors. _

Hermione's heart clenched as she noticed the three stars next to the number, several underlines, and the circling of the word "Mudblood." Her blood seemed to stop flowing as she noticed the word he had penciled in above the prejudiced term.

_Granger._

She was horrified to note that the ink was not faded, but rather fresh, within the last month she reasoned. Bile rose up in her throat, but something made her continue to read.

_4. Malfoys are to have strict priorities, suiting first the self, then the family. _

Next to this he had a numbered list.

1.Myself

2. Money

3. Power

4. The Dark Lord

5. The Family Name

She was horrified to note the nearly inhuman way in which he had prioritized his life. Perhaps Malfoy was incapable of feeling after all. In the back of her mind, a small voice whispered that he had changed, but it was quickly overpowered by the unsettling feeling in her chest and the way tears were starting to flow of their own accord.

_5. Malfoys are to hate, mock, and destroy anything or anyone not of Pureblood. All things, especially Muggles, are expendable in the pursuit of power. _

Hermione could read no more. The book fell to the floor, she let out a fierce sob, and then barely made it to the bathroom before she became sick. And that was the one word flashing through her mind.

_I'm going to be sick. _

_That book is sick. _

_He is SICK._

Her stomach lurched again and she lost the remaining contents of her lunch. She needed to get out of here. She needed to leave _now._

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and ran into the bedroom and then grabbed his shirt, pulling it around her. She shuddered, but had no other choice. She caught sight of the yellow dress out of the corner of her eye and turned to face it. She realized then that she was crying hysterically, her breaths coming in short gasps, as though she'd never get enough air. She looked at the dress and all she could think was, 'I was right.' She thought back to the day she'd taken the dress from Ginny's on a whim. 'I do regret it.'

She gave a small sniff and then fled to the door. She swung it open only to find the man who was currently haunting her thoughts.

He took in her messy appearance, the tears still streaming down her face, and he felt his heart lurch toward her.

She looked at him, a part of her wanting to fall into his arms and sob. But she thought of the book and was immediately filled with revulsion.

She ducked her head and fled.

As she ran, she heard him yell her name, once, twice, three times, each time sounding farther and farther away.

Finally, she reached the point where she could Apparate. As she turned on the spot, she caught sight of him running towards her, anguish and confusion written across his features, but then she blinked, and he was gone. As she appeared in her living room, she wished, too, that she could be gone. She wanted to dive into darkness and never again have to emerge into the light.

Draco tried to follow her, only to find that she'd already set up Apparation wards against him. Racked with confusion, he finally returned to his bedroom. As he walked up the stairs, he could still feel her scent on him. And if he concentrated, he could almost feel her warmth.

As he entered the bedroom, looking at the empty bed where she had been, he felt the mutant butterflies in his chest change to something monstrous and harsh. It felt as though something inside were stinging him. He could feel the burning pain, but could not reach it. He simply sat on the bed in silence, wondering if he could hear his heart breaking.

That's when he saw it.

Lying innocently on the floor, the book that had been forced upon him from youth, was open and looking ominous. He dropped to his knees and picked up the book. It was open to the first page. He read through the rules that he'd read a thousand times. It took no more than a few seconds to realize why she had left him. And sadly, he didn't blame her.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It had been three days.

Three days filled with lots of coffee, intense headaches, and very little sleep.

And she was exhausted.

Hermione was doing everything she could not to think about him. But every time she closed her eyes, there was platinum hair and his attractive grin. It didn't help that whenever she slipped into the world of dreams, she was consistently taken back to that moment in the pool. She would be there again, her hair surrounding them both, holding his hands, enveloped by the calm of the water. Her dreams would continue for what seemed like hours before she would awake, gasping for breath as though she really had been underwater all this time.

In the back of her mind, she wanted to find some reason, some excuse for what she found, but she couldn't smother the feeling of revulsion in her chest. So, instead she chose not to think of it. Against everything she knew, and against her very nature, she decided that if she left things alone, perhaps they would take care of themselves.

But it was getting harder to ignore the thoughts swirling just below the surface of her consciousness. She'd already cleaned her flat four times (two of those times that very day), organized her closet, decided she didn't like it, and organized it again. And she had just started _Hogwarts: a History_ for the seventy-third time.

It didn't help that every miniscule thump or whisper had her turning her head and looking for a flash of white-blond hair. He was always there in the back of her mind, lurking, right around the corner and just out of sight.

Little did she know, he was doing just that as she left for work. He'd tried on numerous occasions to get near her apartment, only to be blocked by some of the most advanced spell work he'd ever encountered.

So that was why he was trailing her, one block and eleven people between them. But even the distance couldn't stop the rush of warmth he felt from her presence. He tried not to stare at the gentle curve of her hips or their subtle sway. He already felt like enough of a stalker. And Malfoys whatever else they might be, were not perverts. Another Malfoy rule.

The courage that he'd started the day with was slowly dwindling as he followed her through the halls of the Ministry and eventually to her office. His plan, though he was confident in it, was unlike anything he'd ever done. He was a Slytherin, through and through, and it was evident in the way he planned his Auror operations. But this—this was downright Gryffindor.

She looked downright exhausted, but she still stopped and chatted with a few people. She had a noble look on her face, as though it was her responsibility to converse with these people. It was one of those moments where he saw someone else in her. She tended to absorb the best characteristics from those she knew, and the righteous look on her face now just screamed Potter. He watched as she entered her office, immediately removed her heels, and kicked the door shut.

He cleared his throat nervously, fingered the locket around his neck (yes, he could finally admit, it was a locket), and moved determinedly to the door. He gave three sturdy knocks and then waited. He could hear shuffling coming from inside, and knew she was rushing to put on her shoes. There was the scrape of her chair being pulled out, and then after a few moments, she called, "Come in!"

He entered with his head held high, a wavering hope pushing him forward. Her head was down, looking over some paperwork as he entered.

He cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was nervous. She immediately recognized the sound and her head shot up. There was fear written across her face and her eyes darted to the door, wondering if she could escape.

"Easy, Granger," he said.

"What?" she asked, "So you're not here to…what was it? 'Hate, mock, and destroy me' because after all, 'Muggles are expendable.'"

She tried to make the comment sound cruel and biting, as cruel and biting as the words in that book, but her voice broke half-way through, giving away her emotions.

"I've actually come about the locket." His voice was calm and almost monotonous, but in reality, his heart felt as though it had grown far too large and was pressing against his lungs.

It could have been his imagination, but he thought he saw her frown deepen, perhaps because ostensibly, he was only here about business. The hope in his chest ignited and he could feel the flames begging to escape, but he kept his expression indifferent. He couldn't give himself away too soon.

"Potter and Weasley said they'd met with you about their lockets, so I figured I should do the same."

"By all means," she whispered. She opened her mouth to speak again, but then just nodded in indication that he should continue.

He cleared his throat once more. "Perhaps it would be easier if I just showed you."

She looked at him then, but he was pointedly not meeting her gaze. She was about to see the happiest moments of Draco Malfoy. She was both excited and terrified But she knew that was she was about to see was something rare and precious, like a new breed of flower that was entirely her own. And this made her even more terrified.

Neither spoke as he prepared the locket, but the scrape of his chair being dragged across the floor and the clink of the locket as he laid it on her desk contributed to the tension.

He took a seat and looked at her, but she was now the one avoiding his eyes. He took a deep breath and before he lost his nerve, he quickly pressed a thumb to each side of the locket.

Something like smoke rose from the center and formed a picture, like a hologram. He watched Hermione as she watched him running down the road towards a girl getting mugged. And he saw the realization dawn… it was she.

"_Regardless, you have to admit that I made one hell of a knight in shining armor." _

As she heard the words, she closed her eyes. A peculiar look passed over her face and he wasn't sure how to interpret it. But before he could try, her eyes had opened and once again fixed on the memory.

_ "Does that make me the damsel in distress?"_

As the memory reached the end, and their two intertwined hands came into view, she adopted an expression that reminded him of Weasley. It was one that Draco had appropriately coined, "the stubborn face."

She relaxed slightly when the memory ended, only to tense again as the next memory began. He noted the barely discernable smirk, his smirk, which appeared on her face as the Hermione in the memory pulled him into the pool. He memorized the moment, for she was so much like him in that moment. It never ceased to send him soaring when she found things in him worth copying. To know that a part of him had become part of her lifted him up.

He watched the color of her face gradually change hues as they witnessed their intimate moment in the bathroom, from his offer to button the shirt for her to their kiss to Minty's interruption. In several places, she turned away from the image, but he never stopped watching her. The memory ended when the image of Draco left the room, and he watched as she remembered what came next. Her face hardened, and it almost made him turn back. But then the next memory began, and for the first time, he turned from her. He watched as the image became smoky, and he knew that this "memory" hadn't happened yet. This was a memory that not even he had watched yet.

He glanced back at her to see that something akin to recognition had dawned on her face, but then he heard a low, breathy moan and his eyes snapped back to the image before him. It played like a faulty projector, the image cutting in and out, but it didn't take more than a few moments to realize exactly what was occurring. He heard a masculine groan as an image of his bare chest came into view. The picture blinked, and a new image emerged of their chests pressed tightly together, their book and dragon lockets intimately intertwined. They heard an affectionate whisper: "Hermione."

Hermione gasped and immediately ripped his thumbs from the locket, causing the picture to disappear. Her skin seared at the contact, and she immediately pulled away.

"Get out," she whispered.

"What? Hermione…"

She shuddered at the sound of her name from his lips.

"This isn't… This doesn't change anything. Please leave," she replied, her eyes studying the surface of her desk.

"Don't do this—"

She cut him off. "Go before you break any more of your rules!"

Her voice was harsh and desperate. He winced, but turned toward the door. He reached inside his suit pocket and tossed something on her desk.

"I thought you might want to see the new Malfoy Canon. I've been working on it since the war."

And then he was gone.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Day had fled, leaving the land naked and vulnerable to the night. He sat next to the fireplace, the flames casting eerie, life-like shadows on the wall. He was gazing out of the window, nursing a glass of scotch and watching the darkness infiltrate every part of the world, every part of him. He was just starting to drift off to sleep, when he heard the door to the sitting room click shut.

He didn't need to look. He knew it was she. He knew it the way he knew the curves of her face, the smooth skin of her hands, and the fire in her eyes.

She didn't wait for him to turn. "Is this true?"

The alcohol loosened his tongue, and his words held a bitter edge. "No Granger. I spent years making that in the hopes that I could one day use it to play a trick on you."

"Prick."

"Gryffindor."

"Arse."

"Bookworm."

"Those aren't insults."

"I know."

He downed the rest of the amber liquid in his glass and set it on the side table, watching as the flames were reflected in the glass.

"I don't understand. My name was written on the old canon, and the ink was fresh."

"The things you saw written in the margins were my notes as to what was wrong with the old canon. Your name was written there because those rules kept me from you, and therefore, needed to be changed."

"So you meant this? You meant all of it?" She held the book up.

"Meant it?" he replied. "I know it by heart, Granger."

She paused and then opened the book, "Rule one?"

"Malfoys are to be well-rounded—intellectually, physically, AND emotionally. Surely you can give me something harder than that, Granger."

"Seventeen."

"Pursue power and wealth by respectful and legitimate means. Rely on cunning, not corruption."

"Three forty-seven."

He laughed, but continued, "Any Malfoy by the name of Draco must keep a dragon ornament on his Auror desk."

"Three forty-eight."

"And no, Potter, it isn't fruity, and I will shove it up your arse if you mock me again."

She smiled, "Harry told me about that. I thought it was a joke."

"It was, at first, but then I thought, what the hell."

She laughed once, but then she became serious again.

"Number two."

Their eyes locked.

"If someone needs a favor, do it."

"Ten."

"People are to be valued for intelligence, character, generosity, creativity, and so on, not according to status or blood."

She swallowed heavily and flipped to the last page of the small bound notebook.

"Six-hundred and twenty-one."

He cleared his throat.

"Let nothing separate you from love, not even rules."

The air between them was heavy with tension and ruled by silence. He wasn't sure if he should be the first to speak or wait for her.

Her movement caught his eye, and he watched as she removed her locket from around her neck and opened it as though she were opening to the middle of a book.

She didn't speak, only opened the locked and pressed a thumb to each side. For the second time that day, they watched an image form above a locket. Only this time, it was her turn to watch him as he watched the memories.

He could feel her eyes on him, but his focus was solely on the image of her looking into the face of a ragged-looking man pointing a gun in her face. He jumped as the man hit her over the head and then ran. She started to teeter backward, but then pale, strong arms encircled her pulling her against a firm body. It was odd, seeing the moment through her eyes, but it ended the same, with their two hands pressed together.

The mutant butterflies that liked to inhabit his chest had evolved into hippogriffs, their wings pounding against his ribcage.

His heart swelled as the next memory began. He took in the familiar setting of his own pool and the yellow fabric of Hermione's dress as she fell backward. Again, he watched their moments together in the pool and then their time in his bedroom.

As the third "memory" began with a breathy moan, she took a step towards him. He watched as it flashed above her locket. This was the same vision from his locket. It wasn't really a memory, since it hadn't happened yet, but every other vision had come true. And as he saw images of their bodies knit in a hungry embrace, their faces pink and dotted with perspiration, he hoped that this would come true, too.

He wasn't sure when she'd gotten so close, but when he blinked, she was within an arm's reach. She was blushing deeply as she held the locket between them.

"Hermione," he whispered. "I don't understand. My—your—_our_ memories, if we can even call them that since some of them haven't even happened yet… why are they different from the others?"

She sighed and answered, "You told me once, that there was nothing happy in your past to remember."

He nodded.

"And for me, every memory that once brought me happiness is tainted by the war. I can't remember my parents without remembering the way they died. I can't think of Hogwarts without thinking about everyone we lost. The lockets did exactly what we created them to do, to choose and store a person's happiest memories. But for you and me, they just hadn't happened yet. So will you make this a real memory, Draco? Will you make love to me?"

He felt as though his heart had been filled with Weasley Fireworks that continuously multiplied, explosion after explosion. He wanted to scream yes, to nod, to affirm her in every way possible. He took a deep breath and answered her question the only way he knew how.

He took both of her hands in his own.

"I will love these hands."

And then he kissed each one.

"I will love your wrists."

His lips moved according to his words.

"I will love your shoulders. I will love your neck. I will love the smooth skin of your cheek."

His kisses became stronger as he moved on.

"I will love your chin, your nose, your eyes, your temple."

He ended with a kiss on her temple, his hands buried in her hair.

"I will love your lips."

He wrapped his arms around her and their lips met. Their tongues were entwined in a desirous dance all about touch and warmth and connection. His hands slid down her back and over the curve of her arse. He picked her up and she immediately wrapped both legs around his waist, as he whispered the same thing over and over.

"I will love all of you."

And nothing seemed real. The words from his mouth didn't seem real, the feel of her against him didn't seem real, the fact that she'd chosen him _definitely_ didn't seem real. When he was with her, he didn't feel like the son of a Death Eater. He didn't feel like a prejudiced bastard. He didn't feel like the guy who would never be good enough for her.

He felt like the man _she _chose

He felt like the man who made _her_ eyes light up.

He felt like a better person, and perhaps, he'd been that person for a while now. He felt like himself for the first time in his entire life. He felt like…

"Draco."

His name from her lips was heaven. And if he were honest, he'd never really liked his name till he heard her whisper it. And he'd never really liked himself, until she'd taken his hand in hers.

"I love all of you too." She smiled against his lips.

As he carried her up the stairs towards his bedroom, he could feel his burden dissipating like he could feel the weight of her chest against his own.

This moment was ascension, in every sense of the word. The dark hole that had always seemed to encircle him was beginning to crumble around him. With every kiss, a ray of light burst forth into the darkness.

As they entered his room, she couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Her hair hadn't been combed, she was wearing hardly any makeup, and she knew for a fact that her bra didn't match her knickers, but when he dropped to his knees and placed a kiss on the skin above her waistband, she knew he wouldn't care.

He peppered her skin with kisses, while gently running his hands up and down her sides. She could feel a ticklish sensation running down her spine, begging her to move. She arched her back and moaned. In response, he bit down lightly on the skin of her hip, and then laved it gently with his tongue.

"Draco," she moaned.

He reached his hands up and slowly pulled her sweatpants down to her ankles. She didn't look at him, her nervousness getting the best of her, but she did step out of her sweats and kicked them a few feet away.

His hands slowly travelled up her bare skin, as he alternated kisses between her two legs. As he neared her center, she felt overwhelmed, her legs shaking from the stimulation. His hands traced the edge of her lace knickers, before splaying his hands wide beneath her bum. Her hips instinctively jerked forward, nearly hitting him in the face. But he didn't seem embarrassed; instead he leaned closer, allowing her to feel his breath on the most private place of her body.

His lips continued to dance around the edge of her knickers, while his hands continued their upward exploration. He allowed himself to discover every dip and curve of her midsection.

She'd had enough. She grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. He kissed the blush on her cheeks and then slowly lifted her shirt over her head. His dipped his head towards the pale breasts peeking out from beneath the material of her bra, and brushed his lips across her heated flesh.

There was a small freckle directly below her left breast that immediately drew his attention. He kissed it once, and then ran his tongue across it. He decided then that he wanted to know every freckle, every line, every nuance of her body.

He wasn't sure when she'd unbuttoned his shirt, but he was glad she had. Her small, warm hands were kneading the muscles of his chest, and he nearly lost control when she gave a swift pinch to his nipple.

He pushed her forward against the wall, and they both moaned. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, and it fell to the floor. Placing a kiss directly below his jaw, she felt a bit of stubble. He dropped his head and nipped at her shoulder. Her hips jerked forward in response. He ran a hand down her thigh, and then pulled it sharply upwards. She immediately wrapped the leg around his waist, the wet lace of her panties connecting with the smooth fabric of his expensive dress pants.

He thrust against her, and she thought she might faint. She could feel him, hard and pressing heavily against her core, but it wasn't enough. There wasn't enough contact or enough friction. Her nipples were hard and straining against the material of her bra. She nipped at his bottom lip, and then motioned for him to remove the offending cloth.

He reached behind her, and with one twist, the bra snapped open. He stepped backwards, and she allowed it to slide off her shoulders. A moment of silence settled between them, as he simply studied her. She tried not to feel embarrassed, but the look in his eye was nothing short of predatory. When the lack of contact became unbearable, she boldly hooked her hand in the waistband of his trousers and pulled him forward.

He towered over her, his shoulders at her eye level, and she found herself entranced by the way his muscles moved as he lifted his arms, and braced them on the wall. He had now affectively encaged her. Grinning, she allowed the hand on his waistband to undo the zipper and slip further into his trousers. He held his breath, as she drew her finger along the top of his penis, feeling every ridge, but wanting to feel them in an entirely different context.

He was unable to hold his breath any longer when she took him in her fist and gave a few generous strokes. His face was buried in her hair, and all those daydreams about what her hair would feel and smell like were nothing compared to this moment.

"Enough." He stopped her hand. He wanted this to be about her. And at the confused look on her face, he told her just that.

He used her leg to pull her closer, rocking gently against her core. Her senses were overwhelmed. Her hardened nipples were pressed exquisitely against his firm chest, one leg was wrapped around his waist, and they were both sweating where they made contact. She could feel a cold wetness creeping down her thighs. Her first instinct was to be self-conscious or disgusted, but as he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh, she could be nothing, do nothing, just feel. There was no room in her brain for thinking anymore, only processing the tremors of passion wracking her body.

He cupped her most private area, and she nearly screamed. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably, and she began to slump against him.

"Bed," she whispered.

He moved more quickly than she had expected, and within moments her bare back was sliding against soft, silken sheets.

"Look at me. God, please, look at me," she whispered.

She needed to know that this was real, because it bore an unbelievable resemblance to a reoccurring dream she'd been having.

His chiseled face entered her vision and she sighed. His chest was bare, his pendant dangling between them. She ran her hands over the dragon reverently, a smile settling on her face.

"I've watched this moment a dozen times in my locket. In the beginning, I tried to find some reason that I would be seeing your naked chest." She laughed.

He laughed, too. "I can think of at least twenty-six reasons." He grinned. "No, wait, twenty-seven."

"Twenty-seven?" She quirked an eyebrow, "Well, we better get started then."

There was a burst of something in his chest, something that had been building since the moment he put the locket around his neck. Its energy spread through the rest of his body, pushing him forward. He dropped a kiss on her sternum, then her belly button, before hooking his fingers in her lace knickers.

Her anticipation was almost palpable as he slid the garment slowly down her legs. He looked at her then, his eyes tracing her every curve. It was then that she noticed that while she was completely naked, he was still wearing his trousers. With a smirk, she locked her legs around his hips, and flipped them over. His cock twitched as she took control.

She fumbled slightly, but managed to pull down his trousers and boxers in one movement.

She studied him as she studied anything, with fervor and rapt attention. He was unbearably hard, but made no attempt to move forward. Time seemed to stand still as she observed him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and then she leaned down and placed an innocent kiss on the purple, weeping head.

That one action sent him propelling forward. He crushed her against his chest, and rolled them over. He had to take a deep breath to get himself under control. He was cradled comfortably between her thighs, and she rolled her hips against him slowly. He smiled and reached a gentle hand towards her cheek.

He knew she wasn't a virgin, but he had no idea how long it had been for her. She kissed the center of his palm and then nodded. He placed the head of his cock at her center, and pushed in just an inch, before retreating again. She moaned at the loss, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He pushed in again, going just a bit deeper.

She was tight, very tight. He needed to take it slowly, but she was warm and slick and more exquisite than he could have imagined. He hesitated.

Impatient, she cupped his arse roughly and rocked her hips forward. He could hold back no more, and sheathed himself completely in her warmth. Her mouth was open in a silent cry. Of pain or pleasure, he wasn't sure.

When she bucked her hips sharply, he knew it was pleasure. Their hips began a rhythmic dance that slowly built in tempo and power. He wished that he could stay inside her forever. Every time he withdrew, he felt the sting of loss, only to feel a stronger sense of belonging with each thrust.

Her hands were everywhere, memorizing every inch of his flesh, and he was close… so close. He needed her to come first though.

He tweaked her nipples harshly, and she cried out, the movement of her hips becoming more erratic. He knew she was close, too. He could feel her breath on his ear, and he was struck by the complete reality of this moment. He would have never dreamed this could be possible.

She leaned even closer and whispered, "I think I'm falling for you."

It was those words that triggered the tightening sensation in his balls. He reached down and pinched her clit once, and she gave a small scream. Together they toppled over the edge, a strange blend of extreme light and darkness flashing across their eyelids. If it were possible to leave one's body and experience a moment of "otherness" from yourself and the world, it would have been this moment—this moment where they felt so close that their souls might have been intertwined.

As they descended, Draco was overwhelmed by the warmth and light that he'd come to associate with her. But now it was different. Not only did it infiltrate every part of him, but it stayed there, even as he rolled away to lie at her side.

He pulled her close, fearing the loss of that warmth, and then he kissed her shoulder and whispered, "I _know _I've fallen for you."

Something caught in her throat and she buried her head in his chest, willing this moment to last forever. He closed his eyes and rested his chin atop her head. Again, her hand returned to finger the ornamental dragon around his neck.

"Are you happy?" she whispered.

"I don't know much about happiness," he replied.

Her stomach twisted and she thought maybe she'd misjudged everything.

"But I'm pretty sure that _this _is better."

And it was.

**A/N: So, that's the end. I'm a little sad. It's was wonderful writing this and I'm truly sad it is over. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. I would like to extend a Draco-sized thank you to my wonderful Beta, Eilonwy, who bettered this fic by leaps and bounds. And I hope you will all stick around as I focus on my other fic, Moments of Sanity!**

**Thank you all for reading and your support and your wonderful reviews!**


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